


Curiously Yours

by lovelyskies



Series: Curiously Yours [1]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Bath Sex, Journey, M/M, just another drop in the snufmin bucket, proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyskies/pseuds/lovelyskies
Summary: A twig collapses and plunges into the fire. Embers rise like fireflies in the night sky. Further off, a trout wimples the surface of a lonely mountain brook covered with lush moss. The last snow patches lay melting away. Becoming smaller and smaller by the second. A mother cardinal hushes her young back to sleep. For tomorrow is a new day, a day that would need plenty of energy and strength to get through.A young man, head resting on his knees, needs that same calling. That call to sleep, to forget the day and prepare for anew. He would not receive it. He pokes the fire with a long stick and watches as another pile tumbles. He tries to force his mind into relaxation, think of something other than him.  Moomintroll.But his mind is no longer his own.





	1. Ch. 1: A Curious Box

**Author's Note:**

> snufkin is based on the recent moominvalley series. not so much the tsundere of the 90's. I can't handle that pinning good lord.

A twig collapses and plunges into the fire. Embers rise like fireflies in the night sky.

 

Further off, a trout wimples the surface of a lonely mountain brook covered with lush moss. The last snow patches lay melting away. Becoming smaller and smaller by the second.

 

In the distance, a mother cardinal hushes her young back to sleep. For tomorrow is a new day, a day that would need plenty of energy and strength to get through.

 

A young man, head resting on his knees, needs that same calling. That call to sleep, to forget the day and prepare for anew. He would not receive it.

 

He pokes the fire with a long stick and watches as another pile tumbles. He tries to force his mind into relaxation, think of something other than him. 

 

But his mind is no longer his own:

 

_He's going to hate you, you know. How can you come into and out of his life just like that? How can you expect anyone to put up with that?_

 

He snaps the twig in his hand and throws it into the growing fire. Why can't his mind be on his side for once?

 

The party they threw, it was all too much. The drinks, the people, oh god, the _people_. His thoughts for the tenth time that evening, replay the night over. Every mistake, every embarrassing moment loops in his mind…

♡

He didn't know why Moomintroll asked him over. His friend of many, pleasant years pleaded with him to come to his house the next evening. _A party this early into spring?_ Despite what his gut said, he agreed to attend.

 

And here he is, standing outside their doorway. The glow coming from the window nearly blinds him. This doesn't feel good. His fist, ready to knock on the door, lowers. Laughter erupts from inside. He should've known better than to come.

 

He turns, yearning to return to the campsite. Alone. Safe.

 

_Click_.

 

"Snufkin?" Moomin stands on the porch, one hand on the doorknob. A heavenly glow shines behind him, completing a halo behind his head. "I thought that was you! You barely make any noise without your sack."

 

Snufkin then felt a longing to readjust his backpack that was not there. He swallows hard, barely able to respond. "Suppose." He turns back to see Moomin. He raises a hand to block the blinding light coming from behind his round figure.

 

Moomin jogs down the stairs and grabs the boy's hand. "Come in, will you? It's awfully cold out." The days were between frigidly cold and pleasantly warm, being the early days of spring.

 

He stands still, not sure. He looks past his friend trying to make sense of what’s inside.

 

"It'll be alright," Moomin calms the other, noticing his nervousness. "It's just my family…"

 

Snufkin nods, breaking his focus from the living room back to Moomin. A smile from each. One not quite sellable.

 

Moomin reenters the room with his guest in hand. Snufkin removes his hat and holds it in his hands.

 

Moomin finishes, "…and a few others." A few? There are at least half the townsfolk in this one room. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. Still, 30 or so people occupy the cramped space.

 

In the middle of the crowd sits Moominpapa performing a story from his memoir. Something about a discovery on the island when they first made shelter. Joxter stumbled upon an opening of some-sort. Was it the reasoning of the party? To _reminisce_? Snufkin assumes.

 

The adults who have already heard this plot at least twice stand to the side drinking some fruity drink. They know how outlandish his stories are. _There’s no way something like that is down there._ On the table sits multiple plates of homemade goodies and one small, curious-looking box.

 

Snufkin’s grip on the other clutches. "What is this?" He hisses, "You told me-"

 

"I know, I know." He scratches the back of the head with his free hand. "You wouldn't come in otherwise." His smile only grows. Snufkin's only lessens. "Punch?" He offers, giggling.

 

" _You_ , maybe. _Drink_ , no." He puts his hat back on with his free hand. He supposes he wouldn’t be staying long.

 

Moomin laughs and releases his hand. Snufkin tries to hold on but to no effect. Moomin was already halfway toward the bowl.

 

"Hey, if it ain't Snufkin!" Snif hops from his position near Moominpapa and towards the boy. Others, including Papa himself, stop and look for a moment before returning. "Why haven't you come to see me yet, huh? The other day I found a stone near the cave. It could be worth something!"  He continues the one-sided conversation. Snufkin hears all of this but registers none. He holds out his paws and shakes, nervously glancing around the space.

 

Moominpapa struggles to keep the crowd entertained. The seventeen children of Mymble start to pay more attention to Snif’s story rather than his own. One lad, sucking his thumb, rises and heads toward the two making the most noise.

 

“Snif, we can talk later,” Snufkin grumbles. Snif continues, not paying any attention. He nearly jumps out from his skin when someone pulls on his coat. A boy whose nose ran more like a faucet reaches to his older half-brother and grabs the air, wanting to be held. “No, little one,” he hisses, “Shoo!” He gently pushes his foot to scot the boy away. His arms only reach further. Now, his nose was not the only thing flowing. His eyes begin to flood with tears. “O-Oh don’t do that now, child.” The room takes notice. Well, everyone except Mymble and Moominmama who were still chatting without a care.

 

He feels each and every gaze burn into his body. God, everyone is looking at him. “Fine then!” He picks up the teary-eyed child and bounces him in his arms. The child immediately stops his winning and reaches toward his hat. _I don’t do this. I don’t go to parties and I most certainly am not a babysitter!_

 

“Do you charge hourly?” A small voice squeaked. Snufkin can’t see where this tiny but nauseating voice is coming from. He leans forward to see that familiar bun. “Or is it a flat fee?” Little My munches on a ginger snap cookie. She leans her arm on her younger brother’s leg like a post. “Surprised to see you here. Thought you hated this kind of thing.”

 

“I do hate this.” He can feel sweat forming above his eyebrow. The child seizes the opportunity to grab Snufkin’s hat and puts it over his own head. The hat swallows him whole all the way down to his neck.

 

Little My bursts out laughing, “Looks better on him!” She recalls living in that hat. It didn’t smell quite nice. 

 

“Hey, Snif,” Moomin returns with two glasses, “Momma made some cake for the party. I pretty sure she left the bowl for you in the kitchen.”

 

“I’m starting to think I should build a shop in the cave. Imagine how much I would make, without even leaving my front yard!” Snif stops. “Wait, _cake_ you say?”

 

A nod.

 

He launches toward the kitchen without another word. Suppose one thing he loves more than money is sweets.

 

“Here,” said Moomin and gently grabs the child with the hat from Snufkin and sets him down. The boy, enclosed in darkness, bumps into Little My who was still leaning on the other leg.

 

“Hey, watch it!” She rips off the hat and holds over her head. He jumps and tries to get the hat back. Little My is not much taller and struggles to keep the hat in her grip. “Off with you sniveling thing!”

 

Snufkin grabs his back from Little My and pulls it down on his head. “My hat is _not_ a toy.”

 

_Hmph_. She pouts and storms off. The lad follows shortly behind. Oh dear. The poor lad doesn’t know who he’s messing with.

 

“You alright?” Moomin hands a glass to his friend.

 

His shaky hand takes the cup. “Yes.”

 

Seeing his normally happy-go-lucky friend so up-in-knots didn’t strike him well. “Want to go to my room?”

 

He takes the cup to his chapped lips, taking a small sip. Any more and it would have spilled all over him. “Are you saying I can’t handle this?”

 

“No,” he lied, “you just seem uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, what gave you that idea?” He smiles, taking light of his discomfort.

 

Moomin shrugs and once again grabs his hand. “Papa is about to wrap up. Finally. We’re going to try out this radio he found. Now, we don’t even need records to play music.”

 

Sunfkin’s eyebrows lower. “Radio? Why not the real thing?”

 

“I told him it would be nothing like _your_ playing.” He guides him through the living room where they pushed all the furniture to the side. “Of course, he never listens.”

 

“Blasted thing!” Moominpapa bangs on the silent radio. The children were beginning to get rowdy.

 

“Here, darling.” Moominmama comes to the rescue. “You just have to adjust the antennas, remember?” She does just that using her gentle touch.

 

The music slowly fades in. At first, the audio is scratchy and unrecognizable. As she continues to twist back and forth, finding that sweet spot, it becomes clearer.

 

“Hmm,” Snufkin judges after listening. “Not quite the same, no.”

 

“Ah, but nothing comes close to your harmonica tunes, does it?” Momminpapa rubs his hands together, pleased with what ‘he’ just accomplished. “But with this, you hear more than the harmonica! Trumpet, drum, why even violin! Is that just grand?”

 

“No,” Snufkin repeats.

 

Moominpapa’s shoulders drop. There’s no sense in arguing.

 

“I think it’s just lovely dear.” Moominmama begins to whistle the familiar tune. If no one else would agree with him, he could always rely on his wife.

 

“Have you the memory of our first dance, dear Moominmama?” He puts his hands on his hips and points his nose toward the ceiling.

 

Her whistling stops. “Well of course. You stumbled quite a bit.”

 

“N-Never mind that!” He grabbed her right hand and began to dance quite like the first time. “This time I will sweep you off your feet! A remarkable sight it will be!”

 

Moomin watches his parents, thankful that everyone else seems to be minding their own business. Then, he remembers the weight in his hand. _He’s still holding onto Snufkin_. He looks up to see Snufkin still staring at the strange new radio. Moomin swallows, careful to choose his words wisely. “Just think,” he starts. Snufkin snaps out of his trance. Moomin’s eyes quickly dart towards the floor, unable to look him in the eyes. “With the music, you’re free to dance as you please.” His face burns. He can’t believe he just said that!

 

“I don’t long to dance.” Snufkin shoots his idea down. “I don’t suppose you wish to?” How odd. Moomin never danced before. Why did he suddenly give out that idea? His friend’s parents certainly couldn’t dance. Suppose it wouldn’t take much to top them.

 

Moomin laughs awkwardly, “No, I suppose I don’t.” Just brush it off. There would be plenty of opportunities later. Surely.

 

Unknown to them, Little My had been listening in on the conversation. She sighs ever the dramatically and smacks her own face. Unable to believe both their stupidity. “Grow up already and make a move!” She shoves Moomin into Snufkin.

 

“Ah!” Moomin apologies repeatedly and attempts to back out of the way. Little My holds on to dear might and pushes Moomin forward. “Little My, what are you doing?”

 

“You can thank me later!” She laughs hysterically.

 

Snufkin backs into the wall with the other pressed against his chest.

 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Moomin nervously laughs. Her scorns a look to the small woman near the floor.

 

“ _Quite_ ,” Snufkin grunts, “the strength in that one.”

Little My ceases her torture with the couple standing chest to chest. Moomin now holds his hands on both sides of Snufkin’s head. She claps her hands together, “My work here is done.”

 

Snufkin opens his eyes to see Moomin staring back into his own. He hasn’t lowered his hands. “Ah.” Snufkin feels his cheeks flourish. “Has it gotten hot in here?” He blinks several times. His throat aches. There are too many bodies in one place. He can feel the energy escaping his body through his palms and feet. His body felt so cold yet so hot and shutters with every slightest breeze. There’s pressure to relieve this frustration. To get it out of his system.

 

Moomin pauses lost in the moment. If only he could hold him. If only he could stare into those hazelnut eyes and burn a hole into them.

 

Then, he notices Snufkin biting down on his quivering lips. His eyes dart in every direction. 

 

Oh, what was he doing?

 

“Snufkin?” He lowers one of his hands as it finds a home on the other’s cheek. Scolding hot. “I’m sorry about that. I should have never forced you to come.” He feels a sudden burden on his chest. He stares at the ground. “I know you hate parties. I just…”

 

A drop of water falls onto his white paw. He looks up to find Snufkin furiously wipe his face with his sleeve. Is he mad? Certainly not sad.

 

Moomin has never seen his best friend cry over something so…meniscal. He doesn’t know what to do let alone say.

 

Snufkin removes his sleeve to reveal red-stained eyes. “I need to leave.” He pushes his friend’s hand down from his face and leaves Moomin still standing in shock.

 

Four couples have joined Moominmama and Papa in dancing in the small living space. They swoop from side to side, not to any beat in particular.

 

Snufkin snuffles his nose and struggles to make through the crowd. He bumps into several as they scorn his interruption. He tries to keep his head down, to not let anyone see the tears trickling down his cheek. _Why did I come?_ Another elbow pushes into his side. He apologies aloud, not sure to whom. Then, he feels the top of his foot hit something.

 

Little My stumbles forward, nearly falling flat on her face. “Excuse me! Who do you think you are?” She turns and looks up at the culprit – a pathetic, crying young man wearing all green. “Snufkin?”

 

His eyes widen. “I, uh,” he stutters. Snufkin takes a step back with his younger sister staring a hole into him. She, like Moomin, is surprised to see him like this.

 

No… The room swirls around him.

 

Don’t look at me… His throat tightens.

 

The back of his ankle bangs against the table in the center of the room.

 

The radio teeters.

 

Crash!

 

The table topples over. The music stops. Everybody turns.

 

“I do say – what is the meaning behind this commotion!?” Moominpapa walks forward to investigate.

 

Snufkin stands frozen, arms still mid-air. He doesn’t hear anyone. His mind is struggling to keep up, his heart thumping out of his chest.

 

“Are you alright, dear?” Moominmama brushes past her husband and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

Every strain of hair on his body raises. “Sorry,” he snaps. He pulls his hat back down, his cheeks burning with droplets streaming down. “Sorry.”

 

“Snuf-!” Moomin tries to stop him but it’s too late. His paws just short of the back of his jacket.

 

He rushes out of the room. This time, much easier with the crowd making a clear pathway towards the door.

 

The crowd mummers amongst themselves.

 

“Poor thing.” Moominmama covers her mouth and shakes her head. “And to think, you threw this party for him.” She gives a sympathetic look towards her son who stares hard at the ground.

 

The curious box remains untouched.

 

♡

Snufkin’s groggy eyes burn from being completely dried up the night before. The familiar view of his tent slowly waving with the wind surrounds him. He doesn’t remember how he ended up in his tent. Last thing he remembers is being outside in front of the fire. Suppose the morning light burned too much so he took shelter in whatever darkness remained. Strange, he didn’t remember falling asleep either.

 

Only his eyes moved for the rest of his body is still waking. Disoriented, he forces his hand outward to feel something so incredibly soft. His head turns to the side – a blanket. White.

 

He doesn’t own such a thing.

 

His eyes clench shut and swallows. _Moomin_.

 

A grunt escapes from his lungs as he lifts himself up. A wave of nausea hits him like a freight train. He doesn’t know to hold his stomach or his head at this point.

 

Snufkin peeks outside the tent by crawling on his knees. The campfire is completely burned out. Not even a hint of smoke remains. How long has he been inside sleeping?

 

He rubs his pounding head. Out of the two, it hurt worse. Crying always wore him out. Suppose that was the reasoning? Too many questions, not enough strength to answer them.

 

A cold wind blows inside his small space. He shivers. The cold usually never bothered him but today felt different. Despite the sun burning mid-morning, he felt like he could use a few extra layers of clothing. He pulls the edge of the blanket and covers himself.

 

His body slumps back down into its original position. His mouth longs for his harmonica. To feel the cold metal against his lips. Maybe with a song or two Moomin would come running. He would then apologize. Apologize for embarrassing him. Apologizing for always being like this. Pathetic.

 

A sliver of sunlight pierces into his eyes. He squints and sees the shadow of a familiar shape. “Moomintroll,” Snufkin whispers, unable to look him in the eyes. He pulls the blanket tighter. “Suppose you came for an apology.”

 

No answer.

 

He turns to see the shape is gone.

 

Outside Moomin whistles, while organizing what appears to be a backpack. “Oh! I thought you were still asleep,” he says when Snufkin appears outside the tent. He still holds on tight to the blanket. He would never tell his friend, but he’s glad he didn’t give his gift last night. _This_ would be much better.

 

Snufkin’s eyes dart towards the ground, “What exactly are you doing?”

 

“Y’know,” he ignores, continuing his thought, “I found you passed out next to the fire in the middle of the night. You need to take better care of yourself if you wish to be so independent.”

 

He blushes. So that’s what happened. “Why? Why did you follow me?”

 

“I didn’t follow you. I just followed the smoke from your fire.” Moomin pulls the top of his pack over but it pops back. He grunts, trying to get it to close. His mom always did this when he went on his little adventures. Pack anything and everything – including an umbrella.

 

“Wait a moment,” Snufkin says. He disappears into his tent to reappear with some rope.

 

“Thanks.” Moomin takes the rope and wraps it around the bag. A little unconventional, but it works. “Now, are you ready?”

 

Snufkin takes a step back. “Ready? For what?”

 

“A trip. A hike. A journey.” He swings the bag over his shoulders. “Whatever you’d like to call it.”

 

Snufkin blinks.

 

Moomin walks past him and kicks up a stake holding the tent down. “Do you just roll this up?” He kicks the other stake and the tent plops down. He continues to do just that with Snufkin still speechless. He finishes and places it with Snufkin’s backpack and puts it across his chest. A backpack in the front and the back. This is going to end well. “Come on then,” he huffs, catching his breath. “No time to waste!”

 

Moomin starts his journey going off the trail and disappears into the deep forest.

 

“Hold on Moomintroll!” Snufkin shakes himself out of it and jogs to catch up. “You haven’t told me _where_ it is we’re going.”

 

“Suppose that is for me to know and for you to find out.” He stops suddenly in his tracks. Snufkin runs into his back with a hard thud. Moomin laughs innocently, “Would you be so kind as to dig out my dad’s compass?”

 

Snufkin smiles for the first time since the incident. Good ole’ Moomintroll. “Which pocket?”

 

“The bottom-left, I do believe.” 

 

The two spent the morning and afternoon trekking through the forest at Moomin’s lead. He had to have fallen at least five times with his eyes glued to the compass. Snufkin insisted that he could hold his own backpack but Moomin only ignored such remarks. That is until Snufkin complained of an empty stomach.

 

“I have some fruits in mine,” Moomin says. “Along with some of Mama’s pastries. Oh! And some cans of vegetables.”

 

He continues to label off what all is in his bag when Snufkin makes his move. He whips in front of his friend and yanks off his bag from his chest. He runs ahead with the bag in his hand and the blanket still across his shoulder flowing like a cape, cheering in victory.

 

“Hey!” Moomin yells. He attempts to catch up, but his own bag weighs him down considerably, slowing his speed likewise. But, then again, he can’t outrun Snufkin bag or no bag. “That wasn’t fair!”

 

“Fair?” Snufkin calls from ahead. He stops to allow Moomin to catch up while folding the blanket and tucking it away. “Since when have you been fair? Dragging me out to who knows where and you want to talk about being fair.”

 

“Suppose,” he heaves, “you have a point.” Moomin leans on his knees to rest and feels something rummaging in his bag.

 

Snufkin appears in front of him with an apple in hand. “Hurry on then.” He takes a bite. “We’re losing daylight.”

 

Both smile.

 

The path started by cutting through multiple forests to end up on a trail. By now, the two did not worry about tree roots tripping them or sharp rocks piercing into their feet. The trail appears to be well-used. Being significantly lighter in color than the surrounding greenery. They end of following a river for miles and miles when the sun appears just beyond the horizon.

 

Moomin stops and takes in the view. He can feel the sun’s warmth on his belly. Snufkin steps beside him. Instead of the sun, he gazes towards Moomin.

 

Hours ago, he decided not to worry where his friend is taking him. It doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things, does it? He had never seen Moomin take on his life approach, although. To leave everything behind and just walk. But it seems like Moomin has an idea of where he is heading. He’s not letting the wind guide him like Snufkin. Occasionally, he checks his map but always has his compass in hand. Wherever he is taking him, he hopes it is somewhere days away. He doesn’t want to go back to Moominvalley. To face everyone who was at that party.

 

“We can set up camp here.” Moomin puts down his backpack and stretches.

 

Snufkin looks around. This isn’t what he would normally pick for a campsite. Instead of tall, overhanging trees, it’s a field of ankle-high grass and weeds. He supposes the peaceful trickle of the river nearby will be nice. But he yearns for more privacy. Oh well, this is Moomin’s journey.

 

He puts his bag down next to the other and digs through its contents. He pulls out a large net and untangles it.

 

Moomin glances down. Before he can ask what he’s planning, Snufkin sets off toward the stream. “I can set up then,” he mumbles to himself. His shoulders slump. He doesn’t even know how to begin.

 

Snufkin rolls up his pants up to his knees before he splashes into the river. The water moves quickly. He sees a few shadows brush past him. He figures a net will be easier to catch a few fish than to test his luck with a fishing pole.

 

He throws the net into the water beside him and holds on tight around the rim. It forms a V shape in the rushing water. It only takes a minute for the first fish to swim into it and get trapped. The current is too strong for the fish to be able to swim out. Soon, another receives the same fate. Snufkin decides two will be plenty as he closes the opening with his hands.

 

“Perfect!” Moomin claps his hands and takes a step back. The tent leans over to the right a bit and the stakes barely mark an inch into the ground. But, if no strong wind passes through, it should remain upright. Should, is the word.

 

Snufkin approaches dripping wet. He turns his head clockwise until his eyes level with the tent. “Isn’t it a tad off?” He asks.

 

“Details, details.” Moomin turns to see Snufkin with the net swung across his back. “What did you catch?”

 

He opens the net and shows it to his friend. “Trout.”

 

Moomin swallows hard. One of the fish’s tails still whipped about. Its mouth gasping. “Lovely.” He pushes his hands away, the sight etched in his mind.

 

“Isn’t it?” Snufkin looks pleased with himself. He walks toward the fire and plumps down. He reaches inside his pocket to reveal his pocket knife.

 

“I made that fire myself, you know.” Moomin sits beside him and stirs the pot hanging above the fire. “Well, mom did pack matches.”

 

Snufkin slices the first fish from its tail all the way up to its gill. Moomin covers his mouth and quickly looks away. He then cleans out all the innards and bones before lastly cutting off the head and tail and peeling the skin. He throws the fish into the stew and begins to work on the next.

 

“So,” Moomin begins, refusing to look at the raw meat. “Feeling any better?”

 

“Hmm?” Snufkin looks up.

 

“Last night,” his tone shifts, “you ran off in a hurry remember?”

 

Snufkin’s heart tugs. He throws the other into the pot and brushes his hands on the grass. 

 

“We don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to.” Moomin looks back toward him now that he was done with the preparations.

 

Snufkin nods and brings his knees close to his chest.

 

Bubbles drip off the pot and fall into the fire.

 

Fish splash up and out the water.

 

Yet the silence between the two bodies is deafening.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Snufkin abruptly says. “To make me feel better?”

 

Moomin’s eyebrows raise. “What makes you say that?”

 

“To get my mind off the terrible mistake I made? To make me somehow forget how much of a mockery I made of you?” He stands, two tight fists forming.

 

“No,” Moomin eases him, “I’m not doing that at all.”

 

“Well good. Because it isn’t working.” He looks down at the pot. “I’d say it’s done now.”

 

Moomin blinks. “Oh, right.”

 

Snufkin sits back down and begins to scoop out two portions into bowls. He hands one to Moomin. “Be careful,” he mumbles, “it’s hot.”

 

The two sit in silence once more. Of course, not one made many conversations during the day. But this is different. The air is different. The tone.

 

Moomin blows on his spoon till the smoke dissipates. It’s a simple but tasty soup. After a long day on his feet, anything would taste good.

 

The sun lowers in the distance. The warm orange fades into a deep purple and blue. In another half-hour, it will be dark.

 

Moomin swirls the last carrot chunk with his spoon with what little broth remained. He sighs before putting down his bowl, “Want me to make some coffee?”

 

“No.” Snufkin’s head sits on top of his knees. His bowl, still half full, sits beside him cold. Before his friend can say anymore, he stands and takes both bowls to the water to wash them out.

 

Moomin flops back on the grass. He rubs his face and curses to himself. This trip, an idea from his mom, is a mistake. What would he think would happen? Just give him the gift. It doesn’t need to be anything special. He looks toward the tent and sees his backpack standing against it. In the near bottom, just above the cans of food, sits that curious box.

He found the ‘gift’ a few years back. It was during a journey out with his father.

♡

They were miles underground. In a cave where the jagged walls become closer and closer toward the ground. His father, a few feet in front of him, had to take off his beloved hat at the entrance of the cavern for he couldn’t fit otherwise.

 

“These things,” Moomin grunts, his voice echoing, “weren’t made for Moomintrolls.” He doesn’t know why his father dragged him out on this expedition. It’s nearing fall. He should be spending all his time with Snufkin. Not in some cramped cave.

 

Moominpapa keeps moving. “Do not fret son. We are almost at our destination.” A water droplet falls onto his forehead. Must be getting close.

 

“What is our ‘destination’ anyway?” He pouts, annoyed. Thinking of all the things he’d rather be doing only puts him in a worse mood.

 

“I came across this place when I was just a lad,” his tone shifts. Moomin’s ears pick up. He had never heard of this story before. “Joxter found the entrance while chasing some rodent. When he told me about it, I had to look. Tell me, son, what is one thing you notice about this place?”

 

Moomin thinks for a moment but comes up empty.

 

“This used to be a mine.”

 

“A mine? Strick me pink!” Now he’s interested. “I thought you said this island was empty when you found it. Well, except for a ghost. How could there be a mine?”

 

“Yes, nobody lived here, you see. But that isn’t to say it had its own secrets of its own.”

 

Now he’s just pulling his tail. “If this is one of your ‘stories’ again…”

 

Moominpapa stops. He wishes his son could see the smile growing on his face. “You’ll see.” He turns and hands the lantern to his son. “Go on without me.”

 

Moomin shutters. “You mean alone?” All that surrounds him is darkness except for the little light coming from the lantern.

 

His father sits on a relatively smooth rock beside him. “Yes, I cannot fit any further. But you should be able to slip through. Now hurry. That lantern won’t last forever.”

 

His heart begins to beat even faster. He can’t do this! Where is it he’s going exactly? What does he do when he get’s ‘there’?

 

“You’ll know what to do,” his dad winks. “Just take one, though. The one that strikes your match. I did the same thing when I was your age.”

 

He has no choice. Continue in the darkness. Alone.

 

Although it only took minutes to reach the room, it felt like days. Every step felt like a step in the wrong direction. (There is only direction, unknown to him). _I’m going to die here. No one will find my body! Oh, what will my dad tell Snorkmadien? Sniff? Little My? I never thought I’d miss Little My…_

 

There’s a faint glow in the distance.

_Am I dead?_

 

He starts to run on the cold, clay-like ground. The glow grows brighter and brighter with each step. Suddenly, he runs into cold water that covers his feet. This is no puddle. _What? What is this?_ He picks up a pebble and throws it. It skips across the water until it fades out into the distance. How big is this? He set the lantern down and turns it off. All light that remains is that coming from the room across the body of water.

 

He begins his journey. In truth, the water only stretched about twenty feet. But he hadn’t swum in months. (Not to mention he just ate). Blind fish swim underneath him. Occasionally he can see their translucent blue outline blurring past him. _Please don’t bite me!_

 

He reaches the clearing and takes a short break as water trickles off him. When he gets back up, he sees the glow coming from around the corner. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

 

The room’s walls are covered from head to toe with sparkling pegmatites. A small hole allows a shard of sunshine to strike the rocks – lighting the entire room. The edges have brilliant green emeralds and the centers are more yellow than the sun itself. Did Dad find this? How did he manage? In front of him sits a pickaxe. He must have left this here. I suppose he couldn’t carry both. 

 

He lifts the instrument and is about to strike when he remembers his father saying, _“Just take one.” One? We could be rich! Why just one? And, besides what does ‘one’ mean? One clump of rock?_ He carefully investigates the room to find the best rock that would provide the best emerald. At last, he finds a cluster in the center of the room. The green that shines through is darker than the rest. It’s a rich green. As beautiful as a clover. He breaks apart the rock and leaves the ax behind, as his father had years prior.

 

The swim was more difficult this time around. There is no light guiding him and then there’s the rock. He reluctantly holds it (as delicate as he can) in his mouth as he travels back. His hands find the lantern as soon as he reaches land.

 

“Why, there you are!” Moominpapa yells out when he sees the lantern glowing in the instance. “Did you find what you sought out for?”

 

“I suppose so,” he yells back. “But what is it for?”

 

Moominpapa chuckles, “Well, if you must know.” It’s clear he’s been waiting for that question all day.

 

He reaches his father who wastes no time heading back up towards the opening. He tries to show his father what he chose, but he only shakes his head. 

 

“You can’t show me. Only the person you love most. Might I say, your true love?”

 

“What?” Moomin asks, “Is that what this is for?” He looks down at the rock. Now he starts to question his decision. 

 

“Why, yes son! I gave my gem to your mother. I didn’t show anyone else. It’s far too valuable, you see.”

 

Moomin looks at his new possession in a different light. Who would he give this to? He got it for himself, not with someone else in mind. Sniff would die if he found out something like this existed and would sell it in a blink of an eye. Snorkmadien would love it, of course, but she would much rather have a mirror or a bracelet to match the one on her ankle. Besides, he just met her during the comet adventure earlier that season. Snufkin? He barely knows him. The only person he can think of is his own mother and, well, what would she do with two emeralds? 

 

“When the time comes, of course. You’ll know when,” his father finishes. The rest of the journey Moominpapa talks about what all he could do with the gem, once cleaned and polished. He went and made it into a ring, which he proposed to Moominmama with.

 

Moomin spends the next few years holding onto the gem. Hiding it in his room until he figured out what to do with it and who to give it to.

 

♡

 


	2. Ch. 2: A Curious Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin wakes to a sudden, violent push. He flings on his side. “My word!” His rubs his eyes to get the sleep out. “What is it?” He reopens his eye to see a mouse, laying on its back, sitting inches from his head. He jumps back, holding his beating chest. “Did you do that? How terribly cruel!”
> 
> “No, of course, I didn’t!” Moomin insisted, “It was there when I woke up. And look…” He points to a pie sitting next to the small rodent, untouched.
> 
> Alright, there is no way Moomin could bake anything close to the pie sitting there. “If you didn’t do it, who did?” Snufkin rises slowly and takes a step toward the breakfast a guest had left. He bends his knees and looks cautiously at the creature. Its little chest rose and fell. “It’s alive,” he whispered to himself. He grabs a nearby stick and carefully pokes its belly. It opens its beady eyes and squeaks before scattering off into the field. A giant wave of relief washes over Snufkin. It hates to see anything suffer. Moomin, however, did not feel any better about the situation at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: http://halleluyuris.tumblr.com

_No_. He decides then and there not to question himself any further. He’s going on this journey with Snufkin. He’s going to give him the gift. When it’s ready, of course.

 

His friend returns with the clean dishes. His hair appears flat and black and is dripping with water. “Fall in?” Moomin asks, laughing.

 

“No,” he replies while smacking the water out of his ear, “I bathed.”

 

Why didn’t he think of that? It is rather obvious. “Good thing I didn’t look, huh?”

 

A light blush form on Snufkin’s cheeks. What is he supposed to say to that? Gee, thanks for not peeping on me! What a great pal you are!

 

Moomin awkwardly laughs. Yeah, not the best thing to say. “Ready for bed?”

 

Snufkin shakes his head. Moomin tilts his head but Snufkin gives no response. Instead, he puts up the dishes and takes out his harmonica.

 

“Right. Of course. No night would ever be complete without a song, would it?” His tail perks up. If Snufkin is to play his harmonica, he must surely be feeling better.

 

“You know me well.” Snufkin smiles and sits leg-crossed next to Moomin. “Any requests?”

 

“Whatever you want is what I like to hear.”

 

Crickets come out of their homes. Owls hoot in the forest nearby. The sun finishes setting. The last note of the song echoes in the desolate field.

 

Moomin opens his eyes, awaken from his daydream. What a lovely song. Not a new one, no. Perhaps the latest song is not quite ready yet?

 

Snufkin stretches mid-yawn. He rubs his eyes, “Now I’m ready for bed.”

 

The Mumrik enters the tent first. He leaves plenty of room for his friend beside him. They spent several nights together. Usually, in Moomin’s own bed. (He often complained of the stuffiness inside the tent).

 

Moomin enters to find Snufkin already snuggled up with his white blanket. He’s grown quite fond of its softness. Perhaps it reminded him of something? He throws over half and turns toward the other. “Did you put this on me last night?”

 

He’s glad it’s too dark to see his blushing face. “You were shivering, half-asleep in front of a fire. Of course, I put a blanket on you.”

 

Snufkin turns flat on his back. “I take care of myself. I never act like that.”

 

“But you did, Snuf.” A long sigh. “And I caused you to act like that.”

 

“What did you do?” Snufkin asks honestly.  

 

“I made you go to that party. I pushed you till you couldn’t take any more. I should have known better. It’s the least I could do to save you from hyperthermia.” Ah, there it is. Now that’s out in the open.

 

Funny, considering Snufkin never thought to put the blame on him. Not in the slightest bit. He grabs his head from underneath the blanket. Both their eyes stare into nothingness above. “You,” he whispers as quietly as he can, “can do nothing wrong.” He smiles as wide as possible. “Ever.”

 

Moomin is taken aback. He feels his shakiness. His uneasiness in his voice. “That isn’t true,” he returns, just as softly. “If anything, I could say the same about you.”

 

“I suppose,” he struggles, “if you don’t count removing signs.”

 

The two laugh quietly in the otherwise silence of the night.

 

A beat.

 

Snufkin leans over and places a small good-night kiss on the tip of his snout. In a way, that was thanking him for relieving him of his terrible guilt. Moomin didn’t think any less of him after the events of last night. Thank goodness for that. His peck makes little noise when it contacts the fur. He lets it rest there for several seconds, both parties holding their breath.

 

When the kiss is complete, Snufkin rubs the back of the other’s ear as slow as the kiss. That’s his sweet spot, for sure. When had he discovered that? Suppose it was a night like this. A night they spent together. Playing little games, recalling past adventures. Sometime in the dark Snufkin had felt an urge to reach on and feel that wonderful fur of his. Moomin hadn’t awakened with the contact, he is a heavy sleeper after all. Rather, the back of his foot twitched with each passing rub.

 

Moomin blinks several times. When did he learn that? Snufkin never shows affection. That’s his job. Suppose this week would be full of firsts. But, is he to complain? No, no he wants more of this. More of these firsts. _More, more…!_

 

“Mmm,” he moans, “more…!”

 

Snufkin stops, hand retracting fast. P-Perhaps it would be better if he were asleep this time. He laughs quite uncomfortable – just realizing how small the bedding area is inside his tent.

 

Moomin’s face is scolding. Oh, god, how could he turn this around? His body is two steps ahead of his mind. He reaches out and places a paw underneath the other’s chin. Doing what he always dreamt about doing.

 

The scratches felt so good there. Snufkin’s back arches. He grabs ahold of the other’s arm. Making sure he never let go. Moomin smiles. He just knew that would be his spot. Something escapes deep within Snufkin’s chest. Was that…a purr?

 

Moomin tries to let go, but the boy’s grip is too strong. The purrs continue, but neither seem to mind. “Moomintroll,” Snufkin manages, but nothing more. Moomin doesn’t bat an eye. That look on his face, his eyelids so heavy, oozing with sheer delight, is something he wants sketching in his mind for eternity.

 

Eventually, the boy’s grip lets loose. Allowing the other to break free. Snufkin then feels an arm wrap around his stomach, a leg tangled with his own, and short warm breaths against his exposed neck. The air is thick in the tent. Good thing it is too dark to see anything for his cheeks glow red.

 

Oh, how is either going to get any sleep tonight?

 

♡

 

Breakfast consisted of leftover stew from the night prior. It’s barely enough to satisfy the grown Moomin, but more than enough for the Mumrik. Snufkin hands his wooden bowl to the other who is licking his lips in anticipation.

 

“Thanks,” says Moomin before digging into his second round. He didn’t even have to ask.  

 

Snufkin pauses for a moment to watch the other. No, him scooping spoonful after spoonful with some dripping down his mouth is not very pleasant or romantic. Why did he think otherwise? He stands and begins to pack up the campsite, trying his best to ignore the sounds coming from the other.

 

“Do uo not gt enugh?”

 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” Snufkin puts out the fire with some leftover water in his pitcher.

 

He swallows the excess in his mouth. “Do you not get enough? It seems you’re always getting smaller.”

 

“It may be due to the fact you're always getting bigger.” Ouch.

 

“Oh,” Moomin looks down. Suppose he had a few birth spirits. “Is that bad?” He suddenly feels self-conscious. That only lasts a few seconds though, after he realizes Snufkin is only kidding.

 

“No,” Snufkin states plainly. He’s behind Moomin now, rolling up the tent. “It’s the nature of your species. I should be lucky I’m this big.”

 

Moomin laughs, thinking of his friend’s sister. Imagine if the two swapped bodies. That _is_ a weird image.

 

“I don’t wish to know what you’re thinking.” Snufkin can’t help but smile. Oh, he knew what he is thinking alright. He’s often thought of being Little My’s size. How easy it would be to climb! And to hide…Oh, but is it worth it? No, not at all.

 

Moomin grabs the tent from his hands.

 

“Not this silly game again. I don’t feel like chasing you.” Snufkin sighs, he really didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.  

 

“I am the bigger man, aren’t I?” Moomin hosts up his own bag. “I’ll be doing the heavy lifting.”

 

“And the directions?” Snufin’s head tilts. “I don’t know, Moomintroll, that sounds like an _awful_ lot for you.”

 

He did not understand sarcasm. “No such thing! My dad is an adventurer, you know.”

 

“ _So_?”  

 

“ _So_ , it’s in my blood. Adventuring, that is. Just see. You may want me to come with you during the winter.” A bit of a stretch.

 

“Hm, that’s a lot to prove. But you are a man of your word. Lead the way?” Snufkin opens his arm to the valley ahead.

 

“Why, yes, I shall do just that!” He adjusts his bag before setting off with Snufkin right by his side.

 

♡

 

What large footprints he has! To walk all this distance, without shoes. Oh dear, his feet must want to fall off. If they weren't already jelly.

 

When walking for hours on end, one begins to notice such things. Snufkin spent the past hour entertaining himself with the thought of the other's feet. He'd never imagine of doing that before and probably will never again.

 

He came to the conclusion that everyone's feet are strange and gross. He began to relate his findings to his friend when he noticed something much more interesting than one's body parts. The trees were beginning to disappear. Not before his very eyes, no, but when one has been staring at the ground for a considerable time, the entire world will look different. Inside of a lush forest, it seems they were heading into a grassland. Had he ever been in this direction before?

 

A small dot appears over the horizon. The dot yells something that something sounded like distant gibberish. As they get closer, the dot begins to take shape of a merchant. The young lad wore a straw hat and had bleach blonde hair. Snufkin supposed he must have been a year or two younger than himself. His clothes were stained with who knows what. Mud? Let's say mud.

 

"Hullo," he said cheerfully, revealing a cracked tooth, "travelers, aren't ya'?" He leans against his wooden stand and pulls out a small knife from his overall's.

 

Moomin takes a step back, hiding behind Snufkin. "W-What if we are?" One hand clutches the other's side, the right on his backpack. His is carrying precious cargo no one can lay a hand on.

 

Snufkin puts an easy hand on Moomin's trembling shoulder. "Just passing through." He tips his hat.

 

"Well, in any case, care for something along the road?" The farmer boy picks up an apple and begins to peel it with his knife. He places a slice in his mouth. "Pa makes me stay out here till the sun sets." _Crunch_. "I don't mind it too bad. I built some shade." He points the tip of the knife to the top of his stand. A faded umbrella is logged into the middle of it. It more covers the fruit than himself.

 

"No, no. We'll be on our way." Snufkin puts his hand behind Moomin to push him forward. His feet dig into the sand as he furiously shakes his head. _You first!_ His eyes say.

 

"Oh, but I don't wanna see Pa tonight. He's gonna whup me bad." His tone changes. He puts the half-eaten apple down on the cart. How unsanitary.

 

Snufkin really doesn't care. Moomin isn't budging, still afraid of that knife. "That's quite unfortunate," he sighs while staring a hole into his friend. _Let's go!_

 

"You see, some thief made off with one of ma's pies." He points back behind the apples. Only one pie remained. Fruit flies swarm the sweet. That isn't worth stealing, Snufkin thought.

 

"A-A thief?" Moomin shuttered at the thought. "How terrible!"

 

"Mhmm. I noticed something rustling in that bush over there. When I went over yonder to in-ves-ti-gate (he takes his time pronouncing the word) _wham_! He ran off with three pies. _Three_! Oh lordy." He takes off his straw hat and fans himself. "I'll never hear the end of it."

 

"What did he look like?" Snufkin asks, generally curious. He didn't have anything a thief would want but wanted to keep a lookout. He took a step closer, to see if anything of his was left behind. There's the lone lattice pie, blackberry, sitting there. He squints to the empty spaces to the right. _Is that...?_

 

"He was as quick as a whistle! I didn't catch a good glimpse of him, but I think I saw a tail..." He scratches his chin, thinking back.

 

"My apologies, but we must be on our way." Snufkin quickly turns and takes ahold of Moomin's paw.

 

"Hold on, Snuf," Moomin whispers, "don't you wanna know what the thief looks like?"

 

"No, we're losing daylight. If you wish to meet him, stay here longer and night will fall! He will surely come then." No _smart_ criminal would come back to the scene of the crime. Surely he knows this?

 

If Moomin was not already white, he would have turned as pale as a ghost. Is that true what Snufkin said? The two say goodbye and continue onto their journey.

 

About a third a mile later, Moomin says, "How scary! To think that a thief is in these woods." Except that is isn't woods anymore. They are more out in the open with trees becoming more sparse by the step. More open means more vulnerable.

 

Snufkin nods, thinking of the scratches in the wood where the pies sat.

 

♡

 

"Perhaps we could catch a mouse?" Moomin offers. There isn't any wood to make a fire even if they did. Raw mice? Yuck.

 

Snufkin lays out his new favorite blanket onto the dry grass. He looked up at the stars. He decided then not to pitch his tent. "Did Mama not cook something extra for you?"

 

"Oh, right you are!" He puts down his bag and rummages through the contents. He doesn't remember what food he brought, but Mama's cooking is always good.

 

Snufkin wipes off a portion of the blanket with his paw before laying down. Crickets chirping, the wind rustling the wheat fields nearby, oh how peaceful everything is in this moment. Suppose he would have to travel here sometime again. He rests his head back on his arms and puts a leg over the other, starring at the night sky.

 

He feels a weight beside him. Moomin holds out some pumpernickel bread, his mouth already full.

 

Snufkin head turns. "Thank you, dear Moomintroll." He takes his portion and chews on the end. It isn't fresh, no, but tastes good nonetheless.

 

Moomin readjusts his body so that it's mirroring the other. He, too, looks up at the star-filled sky. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He brushes the crumbs off his chest. In his other hand is five or six cookies.

 

"Yes," he replies, simply, "yes it is." He isn't looking at the sky.

 

After Snufkin finishes, he pulls out his pipe from his bag. Moomin watches as he pours something from a pouch into its end and lights it. He leans back and puffs out a ring of smoke.

 

At first, Moomin _hated_ the smell of it. But, like the smell of coffee, he has grown to tolerate it. He supposes it will never smell nice. What _is_ the appeal?

 

Snufkin laughs quietly, to seemingly nothing.

 

Moomin raises an ear.

 

"To think," he mummers. "All these years, I was so afraid to go on a trip with you."

 

"Afraid?" He seems almost offended. "Of what?" He turns on his side to getter a better view of his friend.

 

Snufkin pulls his hat down so his eyes are covered. "And now, I couldn't imagine going without you."

 

Moomin is at a loss for words.

 

"I suppose that's what scared me the most." He removes his hat to stare deep into the above. Glistens of water trickle down his eyes. One by one, they fall. Despite the tears, his smile grows. He feels something warm clutch his paw. His eyes widen as he looks over toward Moomin.

 

"I'm just glad you don't want rid of me," he laughs. There goes _that_ mood.

 

Snufkin laughs, too. He turns and places his hands on his soft face. "Dear Moomintroll," he whispers so only he could hear, "why would I ever want that?" They snuggle nose to snout before Snufkin places a soft kiss on his lips. _That_ is the way he kissed.

 

Moomin never had understood why he does kissing that way. (He can't even see him!) But, he always plays along, despite how weird. "My turn," he says as he pushes Snufkin back and returns the favor.

 

"We just did your way," he argues, lightheartedly. His fur always ticked his nose. He's pushed back on the ground. "Stop!" He laughs, clutching his stomach. Moomin mutters something along the lines of 'no, I'm not ready' into his skin. He turns his head, now rubbing his cheek.

 

 _Crack_!

 

Snufkin grabs ahold of the other's shoulder. "Did you hear that?" His tone shifts, now deadly serious.

 

Moomin stops but doesn't look up. "You're not getting out of it that easily." He forcefully turns Snufkin's face toward him, with his eyes still staring into the other direction. He continues the relentless snuggling.

 

"I'm serious," Snufkin hisses, still holding tight onto his shoulder, "I heard something."

 

He can't shift the weight above him if he tried.

 

Moomin grumbles, "I think you're hearing things." He moves on top of Snufkin. His legs, on both sides of his body. "Fine, if you're throwing a fit, we can go back to your way." He leans forward, eyes closing. Inside of his lips, he is met with a finger.

 

"Shh," Snufkin eases, his eyes still glued. His night vision is not the greatest, but he can tell something, or someone, is watching. He squints, struggling to make out anything.

 

A minute passes. Then two. Then five.

 

Moomin's hands are getting tired from having to support his own weight. He plumps down beside of Snufkin. "I don't think anyone is there."

 

"That, or they don't wish to be seen." He knows something is out there. Suppose it decided not to bother them. For now.

 

"Anywho, you lost your chance. I don't feel like kissing you like a Murrmik anymore." He crosses his arms like a pouting child.

 

"No?" Snufkin rolls over on top of him now, given the area is safe. "How about the way you _Moomins_ do?"

 

He can't see his face but knows Snufkin has a large grin on his face. "Suppose one more couldn't hurt."

 

Snufkin reaches down and brushes his face against the other. Moomin yawns after just a brief moment. Both decided they need their rest.

 

♡

 

“Snufkin,” Moomin hisses, “wake up, Snufkin!” His snoozing partner swats his hand and mumbles something.

 

Snufkin wakes to a sudden, violent push. He flings on his side. “My word!” His rubs his eyes to get the sleep out. “What is it?” He reopens his eye to see a mouse, laying on its back, sitting inches from his head. He jumps back, holding his beating chest. “Did _you_ do that? How terribly cruel!”

 

“No, of course, I didn’t!” Moomin insisted, “It was there when I woke up. And look…” He points to a pie sitting next to the small rodent, untouched.

 

Alright, there is no way Moomin could bake anything close to the pie sitting there. “If _you_ didn’t do it, who did?” Snufkin rises slowly and takes a step toward the breakfast a guest had left. He bends his knees and looks cautiously at the creature. Its little chest rose and fell. “It’s alive,” he whispered to himself. He grabs a nearby stick and carefully pokes its belly. It opens its beady eyes and squeaks before scattering off into the field. A giant wave of relief washes over Snufkin. It hates to see anything suffer. Moomin, however, did not feel any better about the situation at hand.

 

Both think back to the day prior, to the young boy with bleach blonde hair _, the missing pies_.

 

Snufkin gulps – those scratches were so familiar. They could only be made by one person. He already knew the answer to his question.

 

Something in the wheat field rustles. “ _The thief!”_ Moomin stutters and grabs ahold of Snufkin. He nearly topples over, barely able to balance on his knees. Moomin hides his face into the back of Snufkin’s coat. The braver of the two looks toward the west, where to noise is coming from.

 

A line of fur swings back and forth like a shark’s tail in the treacherous waters of the sea. Closer it comes, its wagging growing rapid.

 

Moomin moans, his arms wrapping tight. Is this the way he goes? A thief stealing his life?

 

Snufkin’s iris’s double in size when he sees a pointed red hat, similar to his own, rise in front of him.

 

“I prefer to eat them alive.” The Joxter stands up straight and stretches his back. “Oh well. There are hundreds where that came from.”

 

“Daddy!” Snufkin gasps. “ _I mean_ , Joxter, what are you doing here?” He pries himself from Moomin and runs, arms open, toward his father.

 

“Well, well,” Joxter chuckles and welcomes his son with a hug, “I could ask you the same.”

 

The terrible smell of tobacco. _Oh,_ how much he loved that awful smell! It means his father is here. Snufkin takes a deep breath, ingesting it all.

 

Moomin opens his eyes one at a time, still not sold he’s safe from thieves. _No, it’s someone worse._ Something sinks deep in his stomach.

 

“Tell me, dear child, are you _my_ Snufkin?” He lifts the lad's chin toward him. His son gives a confused look. Joxter places both hands on his hips and lifts him in the air (it’s quite easier than he expected). He twirls him in the sweet spring air. “Where is your tail? Where is that lovely chestnut hair? Oh, and that golden harmonica?”

 

Snufkin laughs and pulls on his father’s forearm to release him. “I _am_ Snufkin!”

 

“Is that so?” He stops and sets the boy down on his feet. “Prove it, then.” He folds his hands across his chest.

 

Snufkin rolls his eyes and takes off his hat, showing off his rich brown hair. “ _See_?” He turns around and lifts his jacket just barely enough to reveal the tip of his wagging tail. “I _am_ your son!”

 

“Hmm,” he scratches his unkept chin. “I’m not sold quite yet.” He taps his foot. “How about a song? I can recognize my son’s tunes anywhere, you see.”

 

Snufkin turns back and pulls out his shinning harmonica. For him, it’s no question what he will play. It’s a song not even Moomin has heard for he created this past winter. But, with his father here, he _must_ play it. His mouth makes a small o like preparing to whistle a tune.

 

Moomin’s ears perk up before the first note. He loves his harmonica playing, preferably when it’s a solo audience, but he loves it, nonetheless. The songs remind him of unseen plants, fresh-baked cookies, and curvy seashells. Anything and everything reminds him of Snufkin’s playing. These small discoveries, each beautiful in their own mindset, he wants to show his fellow adventurer. He is the one person Moomin wished to share these wondrous discoveries with, as Snufkin did with his songs. He wishes to repay the boy for opening his eyes to the world.

 

Snufkin begins his melody with curved hands, the chords reacting like bagpipes. His foot taps along with his own beat. The Joxter hums to the tune, following in its beat. In his mind, comes a sequence of words, feelings, lyrics. He is no poet, but he can’t help but bellow out a few stanzas:

 

_I can’t find my light without you_

_Your hue is so bright and blue_

_That no matter what I go through_

_You always receive my cue_

_Waiting for me, waiting for you_

_Oh how much I adore you!_  

 

Joxter dances around the harmonica player and throws flowers left and right. “Encore!” He cheers, clapping once done, “Encore!”

 

Snufkin blushes hard. Those lyrics, did he mean it? No, no his father was not that type. Suppose he just made up some words and spat them out. Like his horrid dancing. What a funny man the Joxter is. He never fails to make him smile.

 

“It sounds ab-so-lutely divine. It’s like a dawn chorus gently waking me up.” Joxter thinks for a moment. “Or a nice lullaby to put me to sleep.” Yes, that is more like it.

 

“You could always go for a nap, couldn’t you?” Snufkin giggles. He does not understand the Joxter’s lazy way of living, but he’s not one to judge. He lived an odd life himself, he supposed.

 

Moomin hears snippets of the conversation. He sees them both smiling. It’s always the same when Snufkin’s father makes an appearance. It starts out so happy, but always leaves his friend in turmoil.

 

♡

 

_“He doesn’t care for me,” Snufkin wallowed, “he never has!” His father made his shortest visit yet, two days. Gone for three years, and here for two days. How could he?! No, he must not feel this way about his father. Oh, but he couldn’t help it. Especially in the hours after his departure. He never meant the words he spewed, but like a child throwing a tantrum, he just had to get it out. He would love his father later but had to hate him now._

_Snufkin sat with his head stuffed in his hands while a mid-summer storm brewed outside. Moomin approached, for Snufkin took shelter in his own room rather than his tent. He had just seen his friend so happy, so carefree that afternoon. Now, he can’t even imagine such happiness bestowed on his face._

_Moomin hated that man. He hated how terrible he made Snufkin feel. Baited with love, a love only a father could give, just to rip it out of his hands._

_But, oh, it was a pattern poor Snufkin could not escape. Maybe this time he would stay. This time he would say those words: I love you. He always fell for it. And he was happy to._

_This time, he hadn’t even said goodbye._

_Curse that man. Moomin thought._

_He loves me, just doesn’t show it like one normally would. Snufkin thought._

 

♡

Moomin looked up, seeing that large smile on his friend’s face once more. His heart ached for him. This time would be no different than the rest. And he is falling for it. Again.

 

Snufkin suddenly turns and motions him to join. For the first time, Joxter makes eye contact with the Moomin. A devilish smile grows on his face.

 

Moomin feels sick to his stomach. “I’ll start the packing,” he says, to avoid the conversation.

 

Snufkin shrugs and turns back to his father.

 

“Where are two headed?” Joxter brushes past his son and Moomin and picks up the uneaten pie. He plumps down and takes a piece of crust and throws it into his mouth. “An adventure of sorts?”

 

“Well, you could say that.” Snufkin pulls out a few essentials and sits next to his father. “I don’t know where we’re headed. Moomin is taking me somewhere, you see.” Snufkin looks at Moomin who is currently rolling up the blanket.

 

His father cuts a large slice and hands it to him. Snufkin holds out his palms and takes the treat. “Traveling blindfolded?” He warns, “That’s quite dangerous.”

 

Snufkin is about to correct himself when Moomin interrupts, “ _I_ know where we are going.” He stuffs the blanket into his bag, no longer caring about keeping it wrinkle free. “And we should be heading out.”

 

“Mind if I tag along? I haven’t tasted adventure in so long.” Joxter shows an earnest wanting to go with the duo.

 

Snufkin’s eyes brighten and his tail perks up (as much as it can underneath his coat). “Do you mean that?”

 

Before his father can answer, Moomin sternly declares, “No.” He destroys any fantasy playing its course in Snufkin’s mind. “I only intended on taking Snufkin with me. We’re not prepared for another member.”

 

“You aren’t?” Joxter stands, now finished with his slice. “By the looks of it, you’ve got months’ worth of food in that bag of yours.” He appears behind Moomin and takes the bag off and swings it on his own back.

 

“Hey!” Moomin stomps his foot. That isn’t _his_ bag to take.

 

“Wha-at?” Joxter teases, “I’m only trying to help.”

 

Moomin wants to smack that smirk right off his face. This awful game he’s playing. The game he _always_ plays. If only he could give him a taste of his own medicine. Hurt him before he could hurt –

 

A soft hand touches Moomin’s shoulder. Snufkin is there with a small, embarrassed smile. “Moomintroll,” he whispers, “I know you didn’t intend for this. But,” he sighs, longing a bit, “I haven’t seen my daddy in so long.” He still calls him _daddy_? Even Moomin doesn’t call his father _that_. Snufkin’s childhood, it’s gone. He’s stuck reliving it at different intervals of his life. Not wanting to grow up without _growing_ up. This isn’t going to change anything. He’s not going to get his childhood back. What’s gone it gone.

 

Despite how much Moomin wants Snufkin to _move on,_ he can’t let that smile go. He knows this is going to backfire horribly, but he agrees. Because, despite how horrible things may get, Moomin will be there. _Always_. Unlike some people. Snufkin wraps his arms around his friend and thanks him so. Moomin frowns but returns his hug. When his eyes open, he sees Joxter’s sinister smile from afar.

 

Moomin can be hard to persuade, especially when it comes to his father. But he understands how important this is to him. Why else would he agree? Joxter was here and, by his tail, he will become a part of _their_ life! He had to expresses to Moomin that his father _did_ love him. He just had a funny way of showing it. Snufkin removes himself and thanks his friend once more, who remains frowning, looking afar. He can’t help but laugh. Poor stubborn thing. He kisses his nose as a thank you. Normally, Moomin would melt at such intimacy. Rather, Moomin turns and sets off beyond his father, looking horribly blue. Snufkin does not have the foggiest idea of why.  

 

His father shrugs. Oh well, what can you do? He doesn’t care if Moomin is onboard or not. At least he can spend some time with his family. He never knows how to approach him. It always feels odd, _unnatural_. He would have to get over this feeling. This, _guilt_ poising his mind. If he doesn’t, he’ll drown in despair. It will finally take over and won’t be able to live with himself any longer. He hates who he is. He _will_ make amends. If it’s the last thing he does. _Don’t show him how you feel. You’ve already done enough damage to the lad._ “Ready to head off, son?” He places a piece of wheat in his teeth and grins.  

 

♡

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the Joxter a good or bad guy? Depends on who you ask! Don't you love the unreliable narrator trope?


	3. Ch. 3: A Curious Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moomin swoops around and takes a few careful steps. Snufkin doesn’t say a word, trusting his chariot. He awkwardly peels open the opening to the tent with the tip of his paw, as much as he can manage. He walks inside and lays the body in his arms ever-so-gently onto the white blanket, Snufkin’s favorite. 
> 
> One hand, with his fingers, splayed, cover Snufkin’s face. “Moomintroll,” he shudders, “what’s this about?” He peeks to see Moomin towering over him with a slight close-lipped smile. “I’m still thinking over what you said earlier.” He closes his eyes back and bites his lips. Moomin gave him far too many emotions. Many complicated emotions that he doesn’t quite understand himself. 
> 
> “Oh?” He toys with his sunshine scarf. “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?” He slips the fabric off his neck and folds it carefully in his hands.

The flat, never-ending land of flowing wheat slowly shifts back into cool, wet grass of familiarity. Waves of forever still hills covered in bright green moss make out as far as the eye can see. Rabbits peak their heads of their burrow, eyeing the nearest dandelion to much.

 

_“Not too much further now,”_ Moomin reassures himself. Of course, he didn’t doubt his own directions in the slightest, but it’s nice to see it other than on paper.

 

The other two members of the party catch up. Normally, they would be ahead of the leader, but the duo spent the better half of the afternoon chatting their heads off. Well, mostly Joxter did the chatting. He knew this land like the back of his hand; traveled many times to not one place in particular. This stretch of land holds many stories to tell one’s son. Some awfully frightening, gut-wrenching stories. But most were good tales. And with a willing ear to listen? How could you talk a spell? Snufkin would occasionally chime in with an ‘oh’ and an ‘ah’ but not much more. He wants to hear his father for as long as he can. It doesn’t really matter the subject matter.

 

Snufkin, staring far too longingly at his father, collides with Moomin. From the leader’s once powerful stance, he nearly topples over. He remains balanced, however, saving both from a fall.

 

Joxter cackles and wipes a small tear from his eye. “You two make quite the pair!” He takes a breath to look around at the scenery.

 

Moomin quickly turns to stand Snufkin back in his original stance. He chuckles, saying he could manage himself.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Joxter interrupts, after doing a quick stretch, “what are you two?”

 

Moomin folds up his map and continues onward. “What do you mean?” This is the first time he’s spoken in hours. He still hasn’t gotten over the sudden addition of a party member. His bitterness is resident in his tone.

 

“What do you call yourselves?” He lights his pipe for the third time that day. “Friends? Acquaintances? Nothing at all I suppose?”

 

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain that,” Moomin huffs. His blood begins to boil. Not because of the sun’s rays, but because Joxter knows so little about his son. He hadn’t noticed all the time they spent together? Where his son was, Moomin was close by? Did he pay _that_ little attention to Snufkin? Sure, his trips in Moominvalley were few and far between, but _really?_  

 

Before he explodes, Snufkin places a hand on his shoulder and whispers, “He’s only pulling your tail, Moomintroll. You mustn’t take him so seriously.” He leans his head to rub the other’s cheek. This is _mild_ when it concerns Joxter’s teasing.  To tell the truth, seeing Moomin so up in knots is rather charming. He would never tell him that, though. Snufkin speaks up, “I think, what he’s trying to say is - we do not have a label nor do we need one. Isn’t that so?” Moomin nods.  

 

Like a chilled washcloth to his face, Moomin is immediately cooled down. He will have to put up with the Joxter if he wants to be with Snufkin. For now. His tail whips back and forth until it ties with Snufkin’s tail with a tight grip.

 

“Hmm, interesting way of thinking, son.” Joxter, a few steps behind, feels so incredibly warm. His heart grows, to know that his son has always been in such good hands. And he will always be in good hands by the looks of it. _Without him._

Moominvalley had been kind to his son. Welcoming the poor orphan with open arms. Joxter should be relived, but he can’t help but feel envious of all their relationships. To know you’ll never be needed. He knows how important Moomin is to his son. More important than he will ever be. He got his answer alright. What he wants to ask if for _their_ standing. _What are we? Do we not have a label either?_ No, suppose not.

 

Joxter feels the weight of his flask in his shirt pocket. Oh, such dread overcomes him from thinking such things! Why can’t he just be happy for him? He tries to put on a brave face, but it never truly works in his favor. But, no, he would not drink in front of his son. He already taught his son one bad habit, smoking, he would hate to add another.

 

“Daddy? Is everything alright?” Snufkin turns his head to see how far back his father trailed off. Joxter raises a hand, signaling that everything is, indeed, alright. He draws his pipe for another smoke.

 

Snufkin turns back ahead. The worried look on his face signals that he did not believe his father just then. Moomin decides to take his mind off things, “The countryside is stunning, is it not?”

 

He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, yes, I suppose it is. Especially this time of the year.” He takes a deep breath to soak it all in. “Tell me, are we about to our destination dear Moomintroll? Not that I don’t like our daily journeys, I just sense a great storm coming our way.”

 

“A storm?” Moomin exclaims, “How can you tell?” He looks in the sky to not find a single dark cloud.

 

A laugh. The certain laugh that exudes ‘How _don’t_ you know?’ “When you have been out on your own for as long as I have, you gain a greater sense of things. Like, the salty smell in the air.” He extends his hand out as if expecting a raindrop to fall onto his palm. “The smell of rain from the sea.”

 

“I suppose I will have to trust you on that one.” Moomin sniffs the air and, despite having a rather large nose, cannot smell a thing besides the flowers nearby. “Also, I am pleased to announce that we will reach our destination by sunset!” He points his finger in the air as if making a vow.

 

Snufkin blinks twice before breaking out into laughter. “When has my Moomin become such a keen adventurer?”

 

Moomin blushes, realizing how loud his sudden outburst had been. By this time, Joxter has caught up, wondering what all the commotion is about. “Er, I am no such thing. I simply have followed my _own, detailed_ instructions on how to get here. If I am one thing, it is prepared! My father has taught me that much.”

 

“I must ask, how long have you been preparing for this trip?” This time, Snufkin does sound impressed, although a tad worried. He thought this is some off-the-wall kind of thing. Certainly nothing planned to an incredible extent.

 

Moomin is quite embarrassed to give him the truth, so tells a small fib, “Suppose two years now?”

 

“ _Two years?”_ Snufkin gasps, covering his mouth. “Say it isn’t so Moomin!” Two months is too much, let alone two _years_.

 

“O-One year then!” Moomin stutters. Too late, the damage is already done. Besides, it had been close to _four_ years. His partner’s skin turns ghost white.

 

“My, oh, my,” Joxter cackles, “This _is_ a rather important journey then.”

 

“Who said it wasn’t?” Moomin stomps.

 

“Moomintroll,” Snufkin quietens his voice, “is it true? Had you been planning this entire event for me? For _that_ long?” Moomin gives no response, just shrugs his shoulders nervously. “Oh,” Snufkin moans, “I cannot think of you right now, dear Moomin. This is all too much for one to handle.” His tail loosens its grip and removes itself from the other. Dear, he _hates_ attention. To think that Moomin had been thinking of him for quite some time. Planning something special _just_ for him. Then, the lightbulb in his mind flickers on. “Wait, the party…? You never told me what it was for?” How horrible it would be if it were for _him._ And he ditched it! Ran away like a small child!

 

Moomin plays with his fingers. This time he tells the truth, “Not exactly. Mama threw the party for me. A going away party, is what they call it?”

 

“A party?” Joxter interposes, “Why wasn’t _I_ invited?”

 

“Hush!” Moomin squints at him. He continues, with Snufkin growing more nervous by the second, “Mama actually thought it would be easier if I - ” He stops, oh dear, he said too much.

 

“If _what_?” Snufkin panics.

 

“Well, I didn’t get the chance anyway…”

 

“What is it? What didn’t you get the chance to do?” Snufkin’s iris’s grow double. What did he do to poor Moomin at the party? Why wasn’t he able to complete his task?

 

“Aha!” Joxter claps his hands. “I get it – this is a surprise!” Is he just now getting that? “Son, I believe Moomin doesn’t want you to know just yet.”

 

For once, Moomin agrees, “Yes, I want it to be a surprise. It’s what I always wanted it to be. Mama thought it would be better if I told you out front.”

 

“I agree with Moominmama!” Snufkin huffs. “You know how much I despise surprises!”

 

Moomin reaches out a hand to place on Snufkin’s shoulders.

 

“No!” He refuses. “I cannot think of you now, Moomintroll,” he repeats. He jogs forward to be separated from him.

 

“Even I know he hates surprises,” Joxter says.

 

“Who asked you?” Moomin nearly yells.

 

The grumbling lad stayed several feet in front of his own party for the rest of the afternoon. His father once attempted to make amends and to get on his good side. Snufkin huffed something about wanting to be alone with his thoughts and left it at that.

 

Joxter ends up at the same pace of Moomin, whose eyes are glued on his friend. He worries so much over his son. Why? “Is...” This is going to be harder than he thought. He coughs in his fist and tries again, “Does he seem happy to you?” He makes sure to whisper, not wanting his son to overhear.

 

Moomin looks up. “What?” His brows furrow. “Can’t you read the room?” Obviously, he’s upset. Well, more embarrassed than upset. Still, he just needs some time alone. Can’t Joxter see that? Or is he _that_ loose-headed?

 

Joxter quietly lets out a sole laugh before scratching the back of his neck. “No, no. I’m not meaning now.” He fumbles in his pocket, searching for his pipe. He usually never smokes this much in a day, but today isn’t usual. His eyes wander to his son. He turned out so remarkable, given the circumstances. He speaks, refusing to look away from his own creation, “Is he, y’know, happy?” He speaks in a tone much somber than his normal sarcastic humor. He hopes the boy understands where he’s coming from. He means no harm, certainly, he won’t take it the wrong way. But, god, this is awkward.

 

“Happy? With _you_ being his father?” Moomin snaps back. Joxter jumps in his skin. Both look toward Snufkin, to see if he heard the outburst. No, not by the looks of it. _Phew_. Moomin hisses at a much lower volume, “I couldn’t imagine anyone would be.”

 

No, of course, he doesn’t understand. “I’m not saying about me,” he sighs. This child has more of a parental control than he does. Joxter admires him for that. His ranting could get on his nerves though. If he were in the same spot as the Moomin, he would probably strangle that father of Snufkin’s. _Of course, he isn’t happy knowing the fact that I’m his father._ “In general, does he enjoy himself in Moominvalley?” He speaks cool, but his body temperature is rising. Admiration only goes so far.

 

Moomin scoffs, “Of course he does! He still does his travels in the winter, but always returns by spring.” That isn’t entirely true, but he has more a schedule than his misbehaved father. Why is he suddenly concerned about his wellbeing?

 

Joxter smiles a bit then. “Quite the traveler, eh? I wonder where he gets it from.” He rubs his chin, proud of himself. It looks like his son must appreciate him somewhat if he were to copy his behavior. That i _s_ good news. But, then again, could it become a curse?

 

There’s not an ounce of Joxter in Snufkin! How dare he think otherwise? He could never turn into someone as toxic as his father, could he? Curse his mind for going into such dark places. No, he cannot think like that. If he is truthful, it’s what he fears most. To wake up to find Snufkin gone - without a trace. No, he cannot become his father! “Not you, certainly.” Moomin hisses, disgusted.

 

Joxter narrows his eyes. _So this is how you really feel, eh? Go on, let it out. Let’s hear it._

 

“He doesn’t leave me for years on end.” Moomin clenches his fist. His veins in his neck popping.

 

The color wipes clean from his face. Joxter is aware of his own disappearances, but to hear someone acknowledge it...

 

“He doesn’t make me wonder if he’s dead or alive.” Moomin’s voice picks up. “We care for one another, unlike _you_.” The last word spoke like poison on the tongue.

 

“I care for my own damn son!” Joxter shouts. He would die, he would kill for his son! Snufkin stops then, not turning around. “I would’ve cared from day one if I knew he existed!” Spit flies out. Yes, he did all those terrible things. But he always had, and always will care for Snufkin! No one could tell him otherwise.

 

Moomin is not afraid of him anymore. He’s just a coward. A coward who is afraid of his own son’s disapproval. “What has stopped you after the fact?” He points toward Snufkin. “You’ve known of his existence for a decade! What’s your excuse now?”

 

Both take deep breaths, their blood boiling.

 

A beat.

 

Then, someone steps on a twig.

 

Moomin and Joxter blink. No, it was neither of the two.

 

Snufkin speaks quietly, “Appears we all have issues of our own.” Both jump, fearing to be scolded. “Can we wash away our troubles and live peacefully? Thinking about it, I’ve dreamt of this opportunity!” He smiles at Moomin first, he returns the expression. “To be with my truest friend.” Then he smiles at Joxter. “And my own dad.” His father scratches his back and blushes a tad. Snufkin shakes his head, beyond himself. “I’ve been foolish waiting so much time upset. Moomintroll, you see, I needed a moment to clear my head. I still haven’t fathomed the extraordinary things you’ve done for me!” He grabs a soft, fuzzy hand. “And I wish to hear more of your wonderful stories. Perhaps Moomin and I could share a few?” He grabs his father’s hand with his other. “Can we entertain this fantasy of mine?”

 

There they are. The three of them, hand in hand. Moomin and Joxter exchange a quick glance. But, it’s no question.

 

“Of course.” They both agree, through gritted teeth.

 

“Fantastic then!” A cheery smile blooms. He begins to walk again but this time with a skip. The other two are lunged forward, his grip holding on tightly. “Tell me, dear Moomintroll, where shall we set up our tent? We must sooner rather than later! The sun will soon set on us.” By the looks of it, Snufkin hadn’t registered a thing they said. Or is he just ignoring it?

 

Moomin sighs disappointingly. _Right, the trip_. He hoped they would’ve reached their destination by now, but all the arguing put them behind. “Is that storm of yours coming tonight?” Suppose they could camp out tonight and reach their destination by morning. If it’s possible.

 

“Oh no!” Snufkin says, matter-of-factly. “Perhaps when the moon is at it’s fullest.” He looks at the evening sky where the moon would soon show her face.

 

“I-Is that so?” Moomin laughs a bit too high pitched. His palms are beginning to sweat. “How convenient.”

 

“Hm?” Snufkin tilts his head. “How so?”

 

“Oh, erm, no reason!” A repeat of the same peculiar laugh. His mind is too busy racing with thoughts of what if’s and what now’s to come up with a good lie. Dear, oh dear, he’s been so careful planning ahead and yet he didn’t plan for this! Hopefully, it won’t the storm of the century? He wants to ask his meteorologist friend more but that would only create more suspicion.

 

Snufkin glances sideways and raises both brows. His friend is muttering to himself. He can’t help but giggle, “Afraid of a little rain on your parade?”

 

Moomin shakes his head. “Me? No, I’m not afraid of anything!”

 

“Good! There is much beauty in good rainfall. The forest springs to life - greens become greener, there is nothing to fear in it!”

 

“Meh,” Joxter grumbles, “the rain always messes my fur.” He’s nobody’s poet.

 

♡

 

They set up camp underneath a small stone bridge. The stream underneath is dried up and makes for a perfect hideaway. The dry dirt makes a small cloud as they shuffle about. Joxter plumps down on a patch of grass, flat on his back, and covers his face with his floppy hat. He refuses to help set up the tent, saying he’d rather sleep under the stars. How could he see the stars under the bridge? They both know _that_ isn’t the reason...

 

Moomin ventures out to get some viable firewood (easy, considering the abundance of dry wood) while Snufkin searches for a meal to cook.

 

“Want to go catch something?” Joxter mumbles under his hat. He wouldn’t if Snufkin asked.

 

“No, I have some cans. I’m almost certain Moomin has something as well.” He eyes the large sack sitting beside the tent. He takes a small step towards it.

 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Joxter warns.

 

How can he see what he’s doing? “What’s the harm in it? We’ve shared our meals thus far.” Snufkin shrugs it off and returns to his own bag.

 

Joxter puts one leg over the other. “You and I may see the world like our own, but he does not. I have a feeling he’s hiding something in there. My instinct says it’s something interesting...” One of his ears perks up. It seems he made himself curious.

 

“I think if that were the case, he wouldn’t have let you hold it.” Snufkin lays out two cans: one carrot, one pea.

 

“That boy has had his eyes glued on me all day.” Joxter stood up, startling Snufkin. He smiles from ear to ear, with eager hands, heading toward Moomin’s bag. “Let’s see what the marshmallow is hiding.”

 

Something pulls him back.

 

Snufkin grabs a fist full of Joxter’s pants. “You said it yourself, it must be important to him.” His glare forgoes a warning. “Respect my friend.”

 

Joxter puts his hands up. “Alright, alright, you caught me.” He sits down next to his son, who has let goes of his fabric. “You really care for him, don’t you?” He pulls the hair out of his son’s eyes and tucks it behind his ears.

 

Snufkin can feel his cheeks burning. “Yes, but one doesn’t say it,” he huffs. He really hopes Moomin is around the corner. He can’t take much more of this.

 

Joxter laughs in his fist like one would cough. “My, how smart you’ve become. You could teach your old man a thing or two.” He smiles, showing off his crooked teeth and small fangs.

 

Snufkin notices how old his father looks just then. He notices the dimples on his cheeks, the crows' feet under his eyes. Things he never paid attention to before. As his eyes travel back down to his smile, it disappears.

 

“Listen, son,” Joxter says. He bows his head and closes his eyes shut. “I, uh,” he stumbles. Just say it. Apologize. Make amends. Release your guilt. “I’m -“

 

“Is this plenty?” Moomin enters with wood pilling up to his nostril. Without waiting for an answer, he dumps the pile down where he stands. He couldn’t see ahead with the pile, but now he can see the conversation he interrupted. He blushes a tad and mutters a quick apology.

 

Snufkin turns toward his friend, relieved of his intrusion. “Oh, yes Moomintroll! That will last us well through the morning.” He smiles a bit too warmly. Fantastic work, adventurer!”

 

Moomin takes a stride, forgetting his mishap. “Who? Me?” He wipes the sweat from his brow.

 

Joxter fumbles with the pipe in his pocket. No, he needs something stronger than that.

 

“Now, what were you saying?” Snufkin puts a hand on his father’s arm.

 

“Nothing,” he says, giving a fake smile.

 

“Perhaps you’ll feel like telling me after dinner.” Snufkin grabs the cans and heads over to the pile. “Could you get me a match?” He asks Moomin.

 

Moomin ends up sharing the last of his packed pastries. If they waited another day, it would’ve attracted flies and possibly even some birds. Besides, Moomin wasn’t feeling like eating canned vegetables warmed by the fire. Although the cookies started off soft and gooey, they were more like shortbread. Ah well, it still had some flavor of home.

 

Joxter stood up, with the cans now empty. He dusted off the cookie crumbs off his dress and stretched. “I’m heading out for an evening stroll.” Without waiting for a word, he heads off into the darkness.

 

Moomin turns to Snufkin. His eyes read: _What’s the matter with him?_ Snufkin shrugs. He puts his hand out in front of the fire.

 

The warmth feels different with someone by your side. Like a sudden awareness. An awareness that makes you feel altogether. He closes his eyes and hums. He must write a song about this! Oh, but what does he call it?

 

“What is this feeling?” Snufkin starts, “I feel whole. Everyone I care for is here in my grasp, and everything is perfect.” He stretches his hand out, nearly touching the flames. “What is this called?”

 

Moomin studies his appearance. How terribly sad he felt then. He wants to keep that sweet, innocent smile forever encased on his face. “I think it’s called love.” He makes a circle in the dirt with a stick. He wishes he made a heart. “At least, that’s what Mama calls it.”

 

“ _Love_ ,” he marvels, “my, what a wonderful thing _love_ is...” His eyes open hazily. Moomintroll is beside him now, with the stick still in his paw. He gives a lazy smile. “Isn’t it?”

 

He hears every cricket, feels each breath escape from his lungs – he is fully aware of everything around him, yet registering nothing. All he can focus on are those eyes. Those wonderful, brown eyes. His mind cannot think of a single thought. No imagination would be a grand as this reality.

 

A beat.

 

Moomin drops the stick then. Both paws cup his friend’s cheek as he leans in for a kiss. For the first time, he gives what Snufkin deems a kiss, not of his own. Snufkin shows his appreciation with a hum, tickling both lips. “Not as remarkable as you!” He laughs so giddily, like he’s a child once more. He lifts his body into his arms. Snufkin, wide-eyed, clutches on his frame. Like a ballroom dance, Moomin swings his body around and around. With the first swing, his hat flies clean off.

 

Snufkin holds on for dear life for he has no control of the other. Moomin’s laugh must be contagious because, soon, he breaks out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. ‘ _Watch the fire_ ,’ he wants to say, but no words come out.

 

Oh, he became so dizzy. Luckily, Moomin slowed down before coming to a complete stop. The bridge, the forest, all mesh into one abstract painting. “Moomintroll,” he moans, head bobbing back and forth, “I think I love you.” He wishes he could see his reaction, more than anything. He could be talking to the big bright moon for all he knew. A smile? A frown? A tear? A blush? He can’t tell what.

 

But he can feel. Feel the soft snout snuggle against his pointed nose. Feel his warm breath trickling onto his goose-bumped skin.

 

“I think I love you, too,” he whispers.  

 

He decides then that the fire is too warm for the fur-covered body.

 

Moomin swoops around and takes a few careful steps. Snufkin doesn’t say a word, trusting his chariot. He awkwardly peels open the opening to the tent with the tip of his paw, as much as he can manage. He walks inside and lays the body in his arms ever-so-gently onto the white blanket, Snufkin’s favorite.

 

One hand, with his fingers, splayed, cover Snufkin’s face. “Moomintroll,” he shudders, “what’s this about?” He peeks to see Moomin with a slight close-lipped smile. “I’m still thinking over what you said earlier.” He closes his eyes back and bites his lips. Moomin gave him far too many emotions. Many complicated emotions that he doesn’t quite understand himself.

 

“Oh?” He toys with his sunshine scarf. “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?” He slips the fabric off his neck and folds it carefully in his hands.

 

“I was never upset at you.” Snufkin lowers his hands from his face. “You,” he mumbles,

eyes refusing to make contact with his, “just surprised me.” He makes one quick glance to see his reaction. Moomin seems surprised by the comment itself.

 

His shoulders, once broad, slump down. “Bad surprise?” He removes himself from Snufkin and plops down beside him.

 

Snufkin rolls over and places his arm around his chest. “ _No_ , I was honored by your sentiment. I had no clue you put forth such an effort.” He pauses to nibble on a piece of dry skin on his lips. “No one has done such a thing for me. I didn’t know how to react. And I still don’t, if I’m being honest.”

 

He shifts his head. Snufkin fits perfectly under his arms. He wishes he could see his face then rather than his messy hair. Oh dear, this trip isn’t meant to be the gift. The gift comes after. How would he feel knowing _that_?

 

As if he read his mind, Snufkin lifts his head to stare into Moomin’s glistening eyes. His eyes look up through his lashes. Moomin blinks, the rest of his body frozen. Snufkin holds for nearly a minute, before releasing a soft laugh, breaking his gaze. Moomin watches as he takes a length of hair and curls it with his finger. No one saw this side of Snufkin. Except _him_. It doesn’t matter who Snufkin meets on his journeys, it doesn’t matter who he befriends. _This_ is all his.

 

Moomin squeezes his shoulder tight till their bodies become one. Snufkin coughs into his fur, “You’re smothering me!” He tries to pull himself free from his iron grip but is only yanked back like a rubber band. “You are too cruel, Moomintroll!”

 

They laugh and laugh until their chests ache.

 

♡

 

The broken wooden fence made for an easy break-in. It wasn’t as much of a daring heist as it was a game of limbo. Those are Joxter’s favorite. He hates anything with barbed wires.

 

_Crunch_! Juice spurts out of the corner of his mouth as he chomps down on a bright green apple. _Bleh_. He prefers red. Suppose his son will like these, though. He saved the largest for his favorite son. His, well, _only_ son.

 

The Joxter made no effort to climb the trees, he just gave it a gentle _heave-ho_! and down came five or so apples. Three trees later and he had his fill.  No park keeper would notice a dozen apples missing in their orchard, would they?

 

He makes way back to the broken portion of the fence. Each step feels long and unnatural. Sometimes he looks up to fast and gets dizzy. Then again, he feels warm and bubbly inside, so he doesn’t mind.

 

He thinks of today. What had that boy said? It’s on the tip of his tongue...Oh, right, that he doesn’t care for his son. _Bah_! What the hell does he know? If he doesn’t care for his son why is he getting all these damn apples? Wait...

 

“Shit,” he grunts aloud. His pile in hand is about half what it was a minute ago. He turns his head to see a trail of apples follow him like breadcrumbs. Well, that’s no good. He curses himself before turning back and picking up his mess.

 

“I don’t leave him years on end,” he grumbles, retrieving another fallen fruit. Wait, how long _had_ it been?  A year, _maybe_. He stops in his tracks, forcing all his energy on figuring out the math. He remembers the bad flooding that year...no, it wasn’t last year then. Then the year prior? Ah, no that can’t be right. That’s when he visited the Mymble...

 

The truth hits him hard then. “I’m a bad father,” he confesses to no one but himself.

 

That talking marshmallow _was_ right. He feels like letting go of his shirt, for the apples to fall, and to curl up into a ball and wail. “I’m a bad father,” he repeats. This weight in his chest pulling his entire being down. This warm buzz quickly dissolving into disparity. He’s bad at a lot of things, but this is the only thing that brings him shame.

 

He puts the last apple into his shirt/sack combination. It rolls amongst the others and settles on its side, revealing a large bruise. He notices then the largest of the bunch sitting next to the rotten apple. The best is surrounded by other beauties. And it was doing just fine before the _rotten_ one was introduced. Surely it will leak onto the perfect apple and ruin it as well. The perfect one would have done better never to have the other.

 

Joxter takes out what he just put in and tosses it aside. “I’m a bad father...”

 

♡

 

Snufkin pulls his overcoat through the small hole and over his head. He folds it and places it under the scarf. The hat, which fell at the entrance earlier, he would later add as the cherry on top. Moomin watches the detailed process as if there would a pop quiz tomorrow. He wears an oversized long-sleeved button-up, which is very loosely tucked into his pants. It looks old and worn, but not stained. His pants were rather high-waisted, which made Moomin smile.

 

“There,” Snufkin voices, entering with his hat, “all set.” The pile is now complete.

 

Moomin stretches his arms, leaving his right hand extending outward. Oh, isn’t this just something you do while telling scary stories by the campfire. Snufkin rolls his eyes, getting the hint. He crawls under his arms and rests against his side. Moomin now lowers his hand around his shoulder. “Do you, uh, think your dad will be alright?” He pulls his body close. He figured acting a little concerned will do him some good.

 

Snufkin nuzzles into his fur. “Of course he’ll be alright, I wouldn’t worry.”

 

_Trust me, I’m not_. “Well, suppose we have the night to ourselves then?”

 

“Suppose so, yes.”

 

Silence.

 

Moomin coughs into his fist. _My, is it getting hot in here?_

 

The air thickens.

 

Out of nowhere, Snufkin removes himself and lays across Moomin’s lap. Moomin blinks with his mouth half open. “What are you -?”

 

“Shh,” he whispers, placing a finger on his lips, “I want to show you my gratitude.”

 

“Gratitude?” Before he can ask more, a lip smothers him. Snufkin holds up his snout to reach, getting oh so close. “You dwon't need tw shew me gratwdude,” he babbles.

 

“Oh, but I want to,” Snufkin replies, able to make out what he said. “You make me feel things,  things I can’t write about, things I can’t sing. So, I want to show you. Show you how I feel.” He kisses him then, for a split second. “Will you let me do that, my lovely?” The last word speaks so softly, like strumming a harp.

 

He wants to scoop him up and kiss him till he’s blue, whisper sweet nothings till his lungs give out, hold on to that delicate frame and never let go. The love he feels his enormous. His mind fills with a million possible responses. Much long and heartfelt, but his mouth only answers to a single, “Yes.”

 

A smile. _Good_. He untucks his shirt, revealing just how large the fabric lays on his body (it must go well past his knees when standing).

 

“Do you need help?”

 

Snufkin looks up. “If you’re offering.”

 

Moomin grabs two opposite sides of the shirt and lifts it. Snufkin lifts his arms, easing the process. It didn’t happen with one quick movement, rather a slow reveal. _How long has that been happening_? A faint patch of fur trailed from below the belt to just above his bellybutton. It’s much darker but just as soft as the hair on his head.

 

With the shirt off, Snufkin answers his unspoken question, “It started last spring. Suppose my hair will turn this color one day.”

 

Moomin brushes his fingertips against it. His entire paw covered the majority of his stomach.  Goodness, he looks...different now. “Will it spread?” He doesn’t sound concerned, just curious.

 

He shrugs. “It’s not on my arms and chest just yet.”

 

“Everywhere else?” He doesn’t take his eyes off his recent treasure. He can’t help but follow the path that pools at the edge of his pants.

 

“Some discoveries are best made on your own.”

 

Moomin looks up then, for reassurance. Snufkin nods. How does one start this? A deep breath couldn’t hurt. Okay...alright...he goes nothing...He eases a thumb underneath his waistband, then another on the opposite side. A small tug. _Oh m_ y. Another line of fur, only denser. He swallows. This next pull will take more effort. Snufkin stands on his knees then, it would be difficult otherwise. Moomin whispers a small _thank you_ before readjusting himself. Thumbs are in...On the count of three...One...Two...Thr-

 

“I can’t believe myself!” Joxter stumbles inside. A pile of green apples thrown about the tent. He has one hand covering his face in mourning.

 

Snufkin yelps and falls back behind Moomin. His fingers desperately search around himself. There! He yanks out the blanket from the side and throws it around his chest. “D-Daddy! W-What are you doing back?” He crosses his hands, making sure the blanket stays put. Moomin scrambles up and sits with his leg crossed. Both faces are crimson red.

 

He smears the hand off his face. “I’m a bad father,” he moans. He slumps down and pats his chest. _Where is it? Where’s the damn thing?_

 

Moomin coughs, “Didn’t you say you wanted to sleep under the stars? _Didn’t you_?” He looks back at Snufkin. “Didn’t he say that? I feel like I remember him saying that!”

 

Joxter holds out his flask and flips it upside down. Not a drop. “Now what am I going to do?” He wails, “I can’t be a bad father _and_ sober.”

 

“What are you saying?” Snufkin laughs high-pitched, “You’re not a bad father! Whoever said that?”

 

“He did.” Joxter points at Moomin.

 

“Oh,” Snufkin acts surprised. They both share a panicked look. “ _Apologize_ ,” he hisses, motioning his head toward his father.

 

“ _I’m not apologizing to him_!” Moomin hisses in return.

 

“ _Now_!”

 

“Erm, I’m sorry for saying that earlier,” Moomin grits through his teeth. “ _Even though I’m right_ ,” he mutters to himself.

 

“So, I’m not a bad father?” Joxter whimpers.

 

Moomin nearly chokes on air. Snufkin punches his ankle, still huddling in the floor. “N-No, I suppose not.”

 

Joxter smiles, his frown disappearing in a fraction of a second. “I...I think your right!” He realizes then what he came here with. “Oh!” He grabs two apples and crawls toward his son. Snufkin cowards, pulling the sheet up to his neck. Joxter holds out one with an eager hand. “Go on, I got you this! Just for you! Take it!”

 

Moomin mumbles, “I think you mean _stole_ it.”

 

Snufkin wavering smile grows. He’s careful not to let the blanket slip an inch. He takes the apple with one hand, the other glued tight. “T-Thank you?”

 

Joxter rubs the back of his neck. “I _am_ a good father, aren’t I?”

 

“You know what an even better father would do?” Moomin chips in.

 

Joxter looks at him, bright-eyed.

 

“A good father would check on the fire and make sure there’s enough wood!”

 

Just like that, he falls for it. As soon as he steps outside the tent, Snufkin scrambles for his shirt and throws it on.

 

“Do you think he noticed?” Moomin whispers.

 

Snufkin replies quietly, “I hope not. It wasn’t as bad as I believed it to be, right?”

 

“Snufkin, you were _on top_ of me.” He wants to ease his troubles, but he also wants to be honest about the situation. And to think, he was so close to seeing him, _all_ of him. Why did the Joxter have to ruin _everything_?

 

“Oh, right.” Snufkin toys with a loose button on his shirt. Dear, how is supposed to ride this one out?

 

♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA YOU THOUGHT


	4. Ch. 4 A Curious Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A combination of the warm sun hitting his bright fur and the small tweets of the equally sized bird slowly wakes the groggy Moomintroll. His head shifts left and right, trying to ease the pull in his neck. (How does Snufkin manage to sleep in a tent night after night?) His eyes slowly blink open to see the familiar green ceiling, shadows of the trees hanging above creating a peaceful, waving pattern. 
> 
> His senses return one by one – his nose picks up the musky, withered ashes; he hears the small voices in the forest sing to each other in sweet morning tunes, and he feels the light cloth breathing against his hand. Wait – what was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse to why this took so long ;-;

The early morning haze breaks through the crack at the front of the tent. Whoever left did a poor job securing the flaps to the pole and left it fluttering in the wind. 

A small, palm-sized wren pokes at some pastry crumbs near the once existing fire, now barely smoking. 

A combination of the warm sun hitting his bright fur and the small tweets of the equally sized bird slowly wakes the groggy Moomintroll. His head shifts left and right, trying to ease the pull in his neck. (How does Snufkin manage to sleep in a tent night after night?) His eyes slowly blink open to see the familiar green ceiling, shadows of the trees hanging above creating a peaceful, waving pattern. 

His senses return one by one – his nose picks up the musky, withered ashes; he hears the small voices in the forest sing to each other in sweet morning tunes, and he feels the light cloth breathing against his hand. Wait – what was that? 

His head turns to see a mess of brown, almost ginger hair brushed against his side. His right-hand lay on Snufkin’s back, locking him in place. 

He takes his attention from the beauty of the forest to the beauty laying in his arms. He lifts his left arm oh so carefully to reach over to wipe the hair from his eyes. In return, Snufkin’s eyelids cringe. Ah, he had been so careful not to wake him. Suppose the gentle giant couldn’t be as light as a feather if he so tried. 

Snufkin’s eyelids only halfway open for a second before shutting back. With a deep breath, he stretches his feet, pointing outward and scaring the wren outside away. 

“Morning.” Moomin rubs a small circle around Snufkin’s back. 

“Mmm,” Snufkin sparsely moans, rubbing his face further into his fur to block out the sunlight. His way of saying good morning. 

The corners of Moomin’s mouth quirk up even wider. How ethereal he looks, how he feels, oh if only he could capture this moment and keep it in a bottle. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it,” he teases. 

Snufkin’s head lifts, eyes glazed and unfocused. His head wobbles, as if in some sort of trance before one hand drunkenly cups one side of Moomin’s snout. “I said,” he coos, “hullo.” He places a tender butterfly kiss on the tip of his snout. 

Moomin can’t help but chuckle, “Is that so?” He runs his paw down his back. His paw reaches the other’s belt, pausing with the shift of fabrics. Snufkin stops as well, looking up to see those wicked eyes staring a hole into him. “Hello.”

Before Snufkin laughs aloud and collapses beside Moomin, arms splayed about. His nose crinkles as he beams with endless giggles. Moomin’s face lights up, but not quite understanding the cause for uproar. “Wh-at?” The troll turns over and balances his head on his shoulders. “Was it that funny what I said? _Hello_?”

“No, no!” Snufkin waves his arm, swatting at imaginary flies, “You,” he says, finally catching his breath, “say one thing, but your eyes say another.” His arms flop down, one on his chest and the other to the side. He turns to see Moomin’s confused face. Suppose the lad is a tad airheaded. “Oh!” Snufkin moans, now roughing his hair and face, “never mind that!” He hosts himself up, far too quickly, and wobbles from the plague of darkness in his eyes. 

Moomin felt quite disappointed to have the lovely weight in his arms removed. He turned, his smile fading as he watched his friend’s face flush much of the same. “Snuf?” Moomin leans up slowly. 

Snufkin’s fingers run through his hair, the world going off-axis. Just as quickly as his vision clouded, the blobs returned to their original shape, the black dots vanishing. In the distance, he can hear his voice through the fogginess, “Yes,” he slurs. One blink, then two. Suddenly the white blob had gotten much larger. “Ah, dear Moomin.” He attempts at a groggy smile, taking a few moments to recognize his friend. “Just had to wake my body up, yes?” 

“Hm,” Moomin hums, not buying a word of it. “Alright then.” He crawls to the other side (not being able to stand upright in the crowded space) and grabs one of the dozen green apples displaced. “Here.” He extends his arm out with the fruit in paw. 

Snufkin blinks, forgetting how they came into his tent. “Th-thank you?” He accepts the gift and pulls out his pocketknife, peeling away the skin. Better not to question it. “I hate to be a bother,” he starts, offering the first slice to his friend, who graciously accepts, “but when is our expected arrival date?” 

Moomin smirks, “What? Keeping you on your paws, am I?” He bites into the ripe fruit, sending liquid flying. The pillowcase, blanket both received a morning dew of juice. He begins to speak but is hushed by Snufkin with a small  _ shh!  _

“Remember your manners, don’t speak with your mouth full.” Snufkin takes his turn to sensibly bite into his portion of the fruit; closing his eyes and savoring the smallness of the treat. 

Moomin rolls his eyes. “You’re worse than Mama.” He wipes his sticky paws on his belly, earning another huff by his partner. “But, to answer, I’d say by this evening. Maybe afternoon.” He squints outside, to see if it was still morning. It also depends on the mood of that horrible man. He only guesses Joxter will receive an awful morning headache from his little adventure last night. A devilish smile grows on his face just thinking of it. 

“That soon?” Snufkin raises his eyebrows. He shifts his feet, feeling eager. “I do hope it’s worth the trouble.” He closes his knife and stuffs it I’m expecting big things out of you, Moomintroll.” He kids, but the other takes it to heart. Like a quest set forth by a king to his most noble knight. 

“Of course! Do you expect anything else?” He takes Snufkin’s equally gummy hands into his own. “I promise, it will be worth the travel.” He rubs his thumb against his bony knuckles. 

Snufkin cringes, feeling the stickiness shared between the two. “If you are so sure….” He nearly must pry himself away like a sap stuck to a maple tree. “I’m going to wash up in the creek.” Although his hands are the only things dirty, his entire body feels like it could use a washing. “I advise you the same. I don’t wish for you to make all my items sticky.” He turns his back then pauses at the flap. “Not that kind, at least.” He laughs to only himself, his tail swooping back and forth.  

Moomin feels very much hot just now. What does  _ that _  mean? He watches, still sitting on his knees as the murrmik continues to taunt him. Walking so slowly, his hips almost  _ swaying.  _ Oh, he knows he’s watching him. How cruel. 

Snufkin reaches the edge of the calm tributary - his feet sinking into the muddy sand. Lines of birch trees cover the canvas, making the area seclusive. The last of the early morning fog rises above the treetops, but he can still feel some dew stick to his hair. But bad hair days don’t exist out here, after all, who is to see them?

He lifts his dress (oh, how did it get on backward?) and pulls it over his head. Over the years, the fabric has worn thin. It won’t be long till his claws could shear through fabric with one swipe. The thought of an entirely new dress makes him sad, almost like losing a family member. But that’s a worry for another day. 

Snufkin  _ knows _  when someone or something is watching him. He gets this feeling, that makes every hair on his body stand. Normally, he becomes beyond frustrated with the invasion of privacy. Regrettably becoming short and huffy (so unlike himself). But this time, it feels like he’s gotten away with something. The same feeling he gets when he pulls and destroys those hideous signs littering the park. 

If Moomin didn’t know any better, there was a trail of drool dripping from his chin. No, no, he musn’t look! He covers his eyes and bites his lower lip. But he can still see him, in his eyes he sees the curve of his back, the patch of fur running down his lower back. 

_ _

_ Splash! _

_ _

The sudden commotion forces his eyelids to open. He peaks his head out of the flaps, looking around. Strange, where had Snufkin gone? He steps out and follows his pawprints through the dewy grass. Giving him an early morning heart attack, Snufkin bursts out of the water, sending waves. Moomin falls flat on his back, eyes wide and ears sticking straight up. “By my tail!” 

Snufkin gives a hearty laugh, water droplets falling from his bangs. He catches his breath from laughing and from being underwater before calling out, “Come now! Say you’ll join me?” All the morning grogginess washes away, now wide awake. 

Moomin’s chest heaves, still not over his friend’s surprise. Once he calms, his heart nearly stops once more with the sight in front of him. The water rested below his chest. He looks from the bottom up, the fur much darker now wet, water-stained like sweat and his hair flattened. 

Snufkin extends his hand, inviting him into the cool water. Moomin looks up from the open paw to his face. Seeing that warm smile grow, despite the sinking temperature of the water. Moomin swallows and clenches his eyes shut, gathering his thoughts.  _ Deep breaths…. _

_ _

He takes the first step onto the flat rock, leading way to his friend. Oh dear, is he shaking? He stands on his tiptoes as he lips to the other. He swallows hard, desperately not wanting to fall and make a fool of himself. Goodness, Snufkin is much more trained and built for these kinds of maneuvers. 

With his foot now placed firmly on the last rock in the nature-formed path, his hand reaches out in the darkness, refusing to see what lays in front of him. The tip of his claw brush against the other’s palm.

For the third time that morning, his breath is taking out of his lungs. 

His eyes open for a brief moment, only to see the arrange of pebbles and the edge of the sharp-edged rock. Then, before he can register what’s happening, he is plunged into the chilled water. At least he didn’t have to tiptoe in. 

He kicks violently, waves crashing in and around him. Moomin learned at a young age to open his eyes underwater. But, it doesn’t help in this situation for all he can see his dirt and rocks. His legs lash out against something hard, _  oh the poor fish!  _ His head reaches the air, gasping breathes. He didn’t spend more than a moment underwater, but the panic did plenty to his system. 

He rubs his eyes, which also doesn’t seem to help. After a moment to calm, Moomin laughs quietly, having his life flash before his eyes, he feels like he’s earned it. Finally, his eyesight sharpens – giving him the ability to look around for his partner. “Snuf?” His legs kick slowly back and forth. His laughing seizes. He splashes his arms, turning around. “Where did you go?” Before he panics once more, a wave bursts behind him. 

Snufkin nearly jumps out of the water, gasping for air and gagging on it all the same. If he wasn’t using all his energy keeping him afloat, he would be clutching his aching chest. 

Moomin doesn’t give a moment to think, to panic, to curse himself. He doesn’t need to swim too far, just a stroke or two before he reaches the gasping murrmik. He grabs his worn, aching chest, heaving him up the water to the surface. Unluckily, in such a panic, he nearly throws him onto the surface. Luckily, he landed on grass instead of the neighboring mud. 

The coughing only worsens, Snufkin feels like there’s something down in the pit of his throat wanting to come out. Maybe then his airways will feel like normal, not like a weight is straining his entire chest. Moomin puts a hand behind his back and eases him upward. “Deep breathes,” he eases to his friend what he just told himself. The need to gag slowly eases supposed he did not end up intaking that much water. 

Snufkin’s head flops back, exhausted. It’s only then that Moomin’s panic fully sets in. Above his right eye sits a cloud of red, below it a sea of yellow and orange.

With a few more deep breathes, he opens his eye.  _ Oh! _  He flinches, lifting his hand to feel the source of pain. His eyelid refuses to open, already puffing up. 

Moomin grabs Snufkin’s arm before it can reach the tender spot. A bit forcefully, he overthinks, nearly throwing down his hand like a hot plate in fear of hurting him more. His eyes dance – looking down at his still heaving chest, to that awful stain of the otherwise perfect person. A stain he caused. Moomin strangles, “What have I done….?”  

The strain of his tired muscles makes it virtually impossible to croak out a word. He wants to say no, this isn’t your fault. Did he mean to do this? Never. He eases up slowly, pushing away Moomin’s needy arms. “Could,” he huffs, “clothes….?” 

Moomin raises an eyebrow, his arm still attached. Snufkin moans, not wanting to explain himself. “Oh!” He exclaims, looking down to see him still in his trousers, “Yes! I’ll be right back, alright?” Snufkin nods, giving his best smile. Once the dripping wet snowball disappears, so does his smile. 

He feels very silly, embarrassed, uncomfortable, and everything terrible under the sun. He brings his bruised knees to his chest, wanting to scream into his arms and curse himself for being such a fool. Of course, his body aches, but he felt more pain inside thinking how terrible he must have made Moomin feel. The poor, clumsy thing just doesn’t know his strength. 

For how incredibly strong he is, he is twice as good-hearted. Oh, the poor thing will never live this down.

Before Snufkin can mop any longer, a tall shadow stretches above him. He holds his breath, refusing to look up, knowing what is before him. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! How can you be so stupid?  _ Moomin clenches his fist as he sprints to the pile of clothes. He refuses to look back, to see his biggest fear unravel in front of him. Nightmares of accidental scratching, cuts, bruises, and it came true today. He never imagined a kick to the face, well, then again, he never imagined bathing with his friend. If he did this so easily, imagine what other hurt and pain he could cause. He nearly runs past the pile, too busy with his thoughts of wrong-doings and what-ifs. 

He picks up the banquet and, despite still being dripping wet, brings the clothes close to his chest. It still smells like sweet fruit, tobacco, and faintly of spring flowers. He breathes in deep, taking in each scent - memorizing their uniqueness. He feels a lump in his throat, thinking what if he was to never to smell this aroma again. How easily he can be taken away from him, to disappear like a shooting star over the horizon. Only leaving a trail of stardust. 

His heart beats out of his chest, sweat already dripping from his forehead despite being in the frigid water only moments ago. 

A scream. 

Not out of pain, but …  _ fussing _ ? 

Moomin’s face flushes, his chest constricting. Oh dear. He does not want to hear this one. 

“…and how did  _ this _  happen?!” Joxter, smell drenched in whiskey and tobacco, grasps both son’s wrists, pulling them apart as he leans over him. 

Snufkin fights his father’s strength, trying to constrict himself and hide what is already seen. He grunts, kicking his knees into his father’s abdomen. “It’s nothing,” he grits between his teeth, “to concern yourself with.” 

“ _ No _ ?” Joxter throws Snufkin’s hands down, still leaning over. “I shouldn’t be concerned when I hear what sounds like drowning and come to see  _ this? _ ” A surge of adrenaline courses through his veins. His temple pounds, a mixture of the looming hangover and seething anger. “How does this even happen?” Exactly the reason Joxter made his bathing few and far between. Too many sharp rocks, and of course too much effort. 

A twig snaps. 

Joxter throws his head back as the sound. His tail and ears stick straight up. 

Moomin jumps when he sees the murderous expression on his face. If looks could kill…

There’s his answer. That’s why his son ended up like this. 

Moomin stands stupidly, wide-eyed, not knowing what to do. 

“You,” Joxter hisses, his chest rises and falls slowly, “bastard!” He lunges, claws drawn 

The frightened lad throws his hands up, using the cloth as a makeshift shield. 

Green cloth flies in the air like the predator claws away at his prey. Moomin, so frightened, can only do his best to shield himself from the angry father. 

“Stop!” Snufkin pleads, voice cracking at the sudden strain. He lifts himself far too quickly, his chest punishing himself already. He grabs his father’s forearm, pulling as hard as he can (which isn’t that much). “Stop it,  _ please! _ ” He begs, nearly shrieking. 

They both look down at him with the sudden outburst. 

Joxter isn’t done, no, he won’t be done till the boy is shredded into a hundred pieces. But, like a wave of realization, he looks down at his son’s dress. He retracts his hand, like touching a hot pan. A few pieces fly in the wind landing softly in the grass below. 

Snufkin panics, falling to the ground to collect the pieces. But little good they would be, being so small. Neither of them will tell him that, though. 

Moomin and Joxter stand in silence, now both feeling guilty. No blaming, no bickering, just quiet. And for a moment, it stays still. Snufkin staring a hole into his palm, the other two staring a hole into the back of his head. Fearing his reaction but anticipating it all the same. 

Snufkin feels like laughing, crying, screaming, all at the same time. The one thing stable in his life, the one thing that has been with him from the start – gone. Just like that. 

He could write a verse, about how fragile life is, how easily everything can be gone. Use this experience as inspiration. But, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have a desire to write, to sing. 

It’s… _nothing_. Just a piece of cloth. Snufkin doesn’t hold bonds with objects. No, that’s not him. 

But why does his heart ache? 

Joxter starts, no longer able to withstand the silence, “I didn’t mean – ”

“I know,” Snufkin states matter-of-factly. Not an ounce of emotion in his voice. 

A beat.

Moomin coughs, sizing up the nerve to speak. “I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t,” Snufkin interrupts. He stands, surprising to both, smiling. “Don’t apologize.” He looks at Moomin then Joxter. “Like how Daddy didn’t mean to…” he looks at the pile still in Moomin’s arms. “…do that. And how you didn’t mean to hurt me.” He takes the clothes out of his friend’s arms and hugs them. “It’s all quite alright.” Another smile, much too painful. He wants to disappear into the forest. But, no. No more running away. 

Moomin’s shoulders drop. “You know it’s okay to be upset.” 

Snufkin shakes his head. “I am alright dear Moomintroll,” he lies. Moomin opens his mouth, beginning to argue his point but is interrupted. “But I do have one request? Did Momma pack any first aid kits by chance? I’m afraid I used mine up over the winter.” 

Moomin thinks for a moment, going through the catalog he keeps in his head of all his items. “Wait, yes. I do believe she did!” He claps his hands, finally feeling useful. He turns his heel but feels a soft paw grab around his own. 

“Actually,” Snufkin starts, looking a tad bit embarrassed, “Joxter could you retrieve it?” 

Joxter blinks suddenly brought back into the conversation. “Oh, uh.” He looks at Moomin and raises an eyebrow. “Where is it?” 

“In my…” Moomin stops, “wait, why don’t I just get it?” He laughs nervously. “It would be easier that way.”

“Ah,” Snufkin whispers, “I was hoping for a moment alone with you.” 

Moomin’s ears perk up. Oh dear. There’s no way out of this is there? “Alright then, uh, it’s in my bag. It should be a red box. Not the – “ he stops. “It should be in there.” He wants to ask the fellow not to snoop, surely he won’t. Better not to bring up his thievery ways. 

“Hm.” Joxter stares into Moomin’s eyes.  _ Don’t you dare hurt him again,  _ they read. Moomin gulps. 

Once he feels the gaze disappear, Moomin sighs a breath of relief. 

Oh, how he wants to apologize thousand times over! Kiss that dreadful mark upon his skin. Promise him he will never hurt him again. He’d rather die than to hurt – 

“Could you help me?” Snufkin has already pulled his pants over his trousers and tightened his belt. He holds his blouse out. “It hurts if I pull my arms too much.” 

“R-Right!” Moomin grabs the shirt a little too quickly. He puts the sleeve into his left arm, wrapping is around and helping with his right arm. 

A part of him wants to ask if he’s okay once more. But he knows the answer will be a lie. Still, either he’s taking this well or he’s an excellent actor. Suppose he has talent for theater after all. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, placing a small kiss at the top of his snout. “I rather Joxter not have been the one help me, yes?” 

Moomin chuckles. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He pulls a clump of hair and tucks it behind his ear. He immediately regrets doing so, seeing the eruption of puffy clouds encasing his eye. “Oh,” he moans, looking down at his feet, “I can’t believe myself.” He laughs, trying to drown out the stinging in his own eyes. 

Snufkin pauses fastening his buttons. “Now now, don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” He sniffles, quickly wiping his nose. 

He rolls his eyes, grabbing the clean paw and squeezing it. “Blame yourself for something you didn’t mean to do.” 

“But I  _ did _  do it. Even if I didn’t mean to.” Moomin removes his paw, falling to his side. “What if it happens again? Snuf I – I can’t live with myself. Knowing any day, I could hurt you. That I  _ have  _ hurt you.” 

“You  _ will _  hurt me again, Moomintroll.” 

Moomin looks up, surprised at his response. 

Trying once more, Snufkin reaches over and grabs his hand, placing it on his beating chest. “And  _ I _  will hurt you. It’s inevitable.” He looks up at the sky. “Like the sun rises and sets. The waves crashing into the shore.” he breathes. “All we can do is to be ready. Prepare ourselves. For when it  _ does _  happen.” He looks back down. Seeing in his foggy vision the sight of Moomin silently weeping. “Oh, silly troll what’s all this?” 

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling down his cheek. He’s been too fixated on that horrible scar  _ he  _ caused. What’s this nonsense about Snufkin hurting him? No, he could  _ never.  _ He’s too perfect, too caring, too  _ Snufkin _ . “That, that’s not true.” He shakes his head. “You  _ can’t  _ hu - hurt me. It’s not pos – possible.” 

Snufkin chuckles, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “I may not be a gentle giant, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.” He looks away then, taking interest in some pebble on the ground.  _ The party, for instance…  _

Before another word can be spoken, Joxter returns, flushed, looking detached. 

His son looks over Moomin’s shoulder, an obvious expression of worry. He turns his head, confused.

In Joxter’s hand is a red wooden box. Snufkin assumes is the first aid kit.

Moomin looks up at Snufkin’s confused expression, then turns to see the source standing behind him – Joxter. 

♡

He moved faster than he had in months. Years, perhaps. “That bastard,” Joxter spits. Although the wind brushing against his cheeks felt awaking and refreshing, he felt sick, disgusted. Like he needs to punch something or  _someone._ Not even Moominpapa hit him like that. And hell, he deserved it. What right did that boy have? 

He slows once he reaches the campsite. Now, where’s that damn bag? He’d better have a first-aid kit, or he’s getting an even worse beating. Of course, his son only trusted him to retrieve it. The damn troll only makes problems and he’s the one with the solutions. 

Sitting outside the tent is the large bag, much too large for any traveler. You can tell he doesn’t do this often. If it weren’t for Snufkin, he’s sure the troll would’ve been long dead since now. Eating all the food day one. 

One by one, items, food crumbs, maps fly out. Does a couple of papers crumble and tear? Maybe. Is it Joxter’s fault? Does he feel remorse? No and no. 

His paws touch something hard. 

He takes the small white box out. Odd, this is much too small to hold anything medical. Besides, didn’t he say it was red? Is the kid colorblind? 

“What the hell is he thinking?” Joxter laughs, “Packing all this shit. But when it comes to the important things, oh no, that’s when he – ” His blood turns cold that instant.

The world comes to a standstill. 

He lifts the top off. 

A whoosh of air escapes. 

His heart sits inside his throat. 

Inside the box sits a jewel. 

Joxter’s hands shake, nearly losing grip. 

He pulls it out of its velvet container. 

The reveal - 

A ring. 

A  _ fucking _  ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this fic up a bit and decided to go from a teen rating to mature. Not so much needed in this chapter but for upcoming. I believe this was needed for me to be excited enough to continue it. 
> 
> I will most likely cut the, er, "non-essential" sections into individual chapters. That way if you don't like, you can skip without missing plot. 
> 
> Basically Joxter and Moomin are going to get in some fun antics. And GOSH we will arrive at the village next chapter. Basically it's a romance/honeymoon themed town. with rumors of a certain ritual...
> 
> tumblr; lovelymybunny.tumblr.com


	5. Ch. 5 A Curious Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remarkable,” Snufkin astonishes, “In all my travels, I’ve never seen a place like this.” Referring to the fact he mostly came across fishing ports and other gloomy destinations. To see such a place full of color and life, well, it’s something new. He never thought of a man-made place is as beautiful as something nature has created herself. He breathes in the sweet air, the spring petals and…honey? Whatever the cocktail is, it’s beyond lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is totally not a reference to professor layton haha unless....

The three stand, exchanging their own array of stares when Joxter returns with the kit. Moomin terrifyingly peeks into the older one’s eyes, afraid of another act of violence to spring in any second. Joxter, on the other hand, casts his attention onto something far into the distance, perhaps even space. Snufkin surveys both party’s eyes, not understanding a bit of it.

“Is that…?” Snufkin mutters, barely audible, pointing to the red box. The sudden tingling in his throat causes him to start another fit of coughing.

The two fighting pairs snap back into reality. Moomin, just inches away from the other, puts a hand on his back, gentling rubbing it (no, he would not smack him, even if it is needed). “Are you alright?” It’s not like Snufkin could answer anyhow. He simply waves his hand, the best answer he can give.

Joxter approaches then, spooking Moomin with his sudden presence, and opens the first aid kit. There are a few bottles rattling around containing who knows what (Joxter isn’t the science type). And a roll of fabric, scissors, pins, and some suture needles and silk thread. He sees the objects, not quite registering what to do or where to start.

“I’m,” Snufkin starts, having to cough once more, “alright.” As untrue as that sounds, he gives his best smile to the concerned troll. His paws grasp at the other end of the kit, taking it into his own hands. He places the box on the grass and dampens a small piece of fabric with alcohol, patting his worn eye.

Moomin sits on his knees beside him, wanting to help in some way, not knowing how. Snufkin must have sensed this, for he places the roll of thick gauze in his hand. Moomin opens his mouth, about to question his responsibility when the other hush, “Just like that.” He shouldn’t be thinking of this, but he can’t help it – those soft paws, his equally soft voice. So much softness and care, how fragile. 

Snufkin feels the guilt seep through his friend’s fingertips. He can tell him over and over how it’s not his fault, but he knows it will be pointless. Maybe acting fine is doing him worse. Should he make his feelings, thoughts clear? Oh, but won’t that make it all the worse? He snips a stretch of the gauze. He takes the fabric, directed away from his injury, and wraps it twice around his head below his ear and above the eye. “Could you place your finger here?” Alluding to where his own finger stays, keeping the bandage in place.

“Oh!” Moomin’s shaky hands gently extend; taking much too long to complete the task.

Snufkin chuckles while undoing a pin and slipping into the fabric near his hand. “There,” he says, with the clothespin locked, “all done.”

Moomin removes his hand, letting it drop into his lap. “But is it?” It will take at least a week to fully heal. A constant reminder of the pain he caused.

“Silly troll, of course, it is.” Snufkin grabs his hat sitting next to him and plops it on his head. He swoops his bangs across the bandage. “Can’t even tell, no?” He smiles wide, proud of his small vanishing act, showing a few of his fangs.

Moomin laughs, only a small bit, still quite saddened.

Snufkin stands, no longer able to stand this pity-party. “Let’s be on our way! I’ll start packing my belongs. It won’t take long, I don’t doubt.” 

-

He was right, it didn’t take more than a half-hour to pack everything up and continue their journey. Deep down, he wishes it will be like their past days, he and his father exchanging stories, catching up on lost time. And to have his best friend there? How ideal!

Now lingers a layer of thick air. He carefully stitches the dozens of holes in his coat while the other two avoid each other’s gaze. Like everyone has something to say, eating away at themselves. Oh, how he wants that fantasy world back…Everyone getting along like a family. 

Perhaps he is living a fantasy… and why shouldn’t he live in it? He notices the glares his father receives from Moomin. But he has every right to have a childhood, although late, as much as the troll did. He deserves love from his father. He wants it, needs it.

Over the years, threw short visits by his father, he’s been given a taste of his childhood. Before he could sink his teeth into it, it would be taken away – just as fast. Perhaps it’s foolish to think this time will be different. That maybe he will receive the love long overdue. Can’t he live out his youth? Can’t he not be mature for once in his life?

Oh dear.

He shakes his head as if shaking the anger and bad thoughts out. Moomin has every right to be worried. And, perhaps it is a little odd. Imagine seeing Moomintroll acting mature suddenly, out of the blue. Now that was a thought!

Snufkin laughs at the mental image of Moomin wearing a bowtie and a hat (much like his father’s). He could never be anything but a large child, poor thing couldn’t pull that off if he tried!

Moomin, walking beside him, raises a brow. “What is it? Is there something on my nose?” He brushes off his snout in a swift moment before shifting his focus back on the matter at hand. With his eyes glued to his torn map, he mutters something to himself. Snufkin pulls close, trying to overhear his inner thoughts. Something about…the sun? How peculiar. Snufkin resumes stitching his overcoat, humming a new tune in process. He can only fix so much, the fabric is already worn thin. It hurts, letting go. Maybe he can make a blanket out of it? Oh, but that means he would have to buy a new overcoat. What a dreadful thought!

He loops the thread and bites it off with his teeth, knotting several times. There. As good as it will get.

As soon as he puts away the needle and thread away, Moomin grabs his hand, exclaiming, “Hurry, it should be right over the hill!” Suddenly, he bursts into a sprint, dragging the other. Moomin laughs as he climbs the hill, his bag clanging with pots and bottles. Even though his chest still aches, Snufkin can’t help but laugh seeing the sudden surge of energy.

They arrive not too far off schedule. The sun would set in an hour or so, still making it in time. The village itself is smaller than Snufkin expected, more populated than Joxter remembers, but to Moomin – it’s perfect. The three had walked in silence beforehand, but a quiet gasp of oh’s and ah’s escape when they climb over hill and see the rows up tall, pastel-colored buildings with large wooden windows, grand entrances, and hanging signs on each post advertising florists, wedding venues, and bakeries. Between each building hangs dozens of oil lanterns, waiting to be lit. And sitting in the center of the town, a makeshift theater, rows of wooden planks and flowerpots already blooming.

“Remarkable,” Snufkin astonishes, “In all my travels, I’ve never seen a place like this.” Referring to the fact he mostly came across fishing ports and other gloomy destinations. To see such a place full of color and life, well, it’s something new. He never thought of a man-made place is as beautiful as something nature has created herself. He breathes in the sweet air, the spring petals and…honey? Whatever the cocktail is, it’s beyond lovely. “Moomintroll –”

“Shh.” Moomin stares into the distance, as if expecting something to appear. “Three…two…” Snufkin looks at him curiously. Then, something blinding forces his attention back to the cityscape.

The entire village lights up in an array of orange and yellow waves. The oil lanterns swaying in the wind ignite one by one. If it’s not for the spring petals fluttering, one would assume it’s fall with all the warm colors.

Snufkin grabs ahold of the troll, gasping. If he didn’t know any better, the town lit up just for him. The sudden brightness and the beauty of it all creates a burning in his eye. He would swear up and down he’s not crying, but who is to tell? “It’s…It’s…”

“Beautiful,” the other finishes, except he isn’t looking at the lights. Snufkin turns to him and nods, wiping his eyes. He leans in to brush his sharp nose against his soft snout.

Joxter rolls his eyes. “Let’s get on with it.” He walks past the two, now treading down the hill.

Snufkin begins purring, now holding the other’s snout in place with his paw. “Thank you,” he whispers, even though they are alone.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Moomin laughs. Snufkin turns his head in confusion. “Never mind that. We need to catch up with him. Don’t want him scaring off the townsfolk.” He removes himself and continues in Joxter’s footsteps.

 

♥

They travel down the brick path until they reach a yellow building, the sign advertising ‘Cony’s Bed and Breakfast.’

Moomin wraps his paw around the handle when Snufkin takes a step back. “Oh, wouldn’t you rather camp somewhere?”

“I don’t think I can stand another night sleeping on the ground,” he states, truthfully.

Snufkin bites his lip and looks up at the towering daisy-like house. It will be strange to sleep on a stranger’s bed, but it’s the least he can do. 

A silver bell rings when Moomin opens the wooden door. Inside it smells like rosy perfume and the interior matches that of Mrs. Fillyjonk’s home, except for the lack of china. On the left side sits a counter, a fresh flower bouquet, and two boxes for in and out mail. The other side sits two blue loveseats, a coffee table, and a matching silver tea set and pastries.

Joxter pushes his way in, eyeing the stack of cookies calling his names. A trail of dried mud follows him, already staining the rococo rug. He throws his bag down and slumps on the loveseat. “My, my how fancy.” He feels the arms of the chair. How awful it would be for him to drag his claws on it, tearing the fabric…

“Yes, it is.” Moomin lowers his eyes, feeling agitated. “Please behave yourself.” 

Joxter pops a shortbread cookie into his mouth. “What,” he mumbles, crumbs falling onto his chin, “I do too behave.”

“Hello?” A small voice squeaks.

Moomin looks back at Snufkin, who shrugs his shoulders.

A pair of fuzzy gray ears pop up behind the counter, only for a split second, to disappear again. “Hellooooo? You in the green!”

Snufkin walks over to the counter, looking over when the girl pops back up again, scaring the daylights out of him. “O-Oh! Hello?”

“Where is your harmonica? Aren’t you the Snufkin? The traveling vagabond? My, my, my! And what brings you here?” She hops just as quickly as she speaks, leaving no time for a reply. Then, a gasp, “I see! Oh, I see I see I see!” She stops then, before leaping up and landing on the counter. “You came here to find love!” She wears a blue skirt that comes to her ankles, a brown vest, and sports a large pair of ears that nearly double her already short stature.

Snufkin can feel his face burn, pulling his hat down to shield himself. “Er, I don’t know what you mean…”

“You don’t? Why else would you be here? We aren’t known to be lover’s port for nothing, you know!” She thumps her foot on the counter. “Tell me – are you going to the shrine? It’s a looooong journey I’ll tell you that much. Someone like me could never make it! Well, suppose for you it will be no problem! Are you looking for a blessing? For whom may I ask? Or are you here looking for love? Me? I’m taken but I’m sure my sisters would LOVE to get a chance to talk to you! Do you know how many sisters I have? Last time I checked it was 36 but I could be wrong.”

“Lover’s…port?” Snufkin says underneath his breath, the rest of what she said fading away. Feeling the words on his tongue, “Lover’s port…”

Moomin jumps in, feeling embarrassed himself. “How much for one room?”

She stops, now looking curiously at the one speaking. “One? Don’t you need three? One, two, three!” She points at each of them. “I count three!”

Moomin whispers, a hand shielding the view from Joxter, “He can sleep on the couch.”

“Ohhhh, I see I see I see!” She giggles, before running over to a stack of papers. “Sign here please! We’re quite full, given the festival is this weekend, but I do have a spare room! Lucky you!”

He struggles with the terribly small pen. His handwriting may not be as well as Snufkin’s, but it looks even worse now.

“Aaaaaand yep! There we have it!” She hands him a metal key, struggling to lift it with her entire body. “Third floor, on the right!”

“Hey, fluffs, any good bars around here?” Joxter, now finished with the entire plate of goodies, stretches. “You two have fun.” He leaves the room, banging the door shut behind him.

“Well, well, well! How positively rude! He didn’t even let me answer,” she pouts.

♥

Leaving his son and…the other one to unpack and do whatever they need to do, Joxter stuffs his hands in his pockets and enters the nearest pub. Every person he passes in the street is disgustingly lovey-dovey, making goo-goo eyes and fawning over each other. Thank god for the near-empty pub, if he sees another couple kiss, he’s going to vomit.

The first glass of rum he holds in his hands, warming it before he takes a swig. Then another, then another. A refill, repeat. He slams his fourth glass down, grumbling, “And so here I am, conflicted. Me? Conflicted?”

The bartender awkwardly smiles, not wanting to give him another refill. Maybe if he keeps talking, he won’t bother him for more. “And you said the man is a Moomin?”

“The Moomins, they’re fine. Whatever, you know? But why does the young one want my son? I’ve known Moomin, well, Moominpapa, for most of my life. God, when you get him riled up, he can be a beast. And why should I trust his son with mine?” 

The bartender pours the last bit of rum into his glass, no longer caring about the ice. “Perhaps you’re overcompensating?”

“What?” He spits, “What the hell does that mean?”

Oh dear. He crossed the line, didn’t he? “Er, nothing. Just that, well, you said you’ve been absent most of his life…” He walks away to wipe some already clean glasses. “Maybe being overbearing is your way of making up for those days.”

He grumbles, the edge of the glass sitting on his lip. “Well, I’ll be damned if he lays a finger on my son again. Marriage, ha! Ever heard of a murrmik marrying?”

“I don’t know any murrmiks.” Thankfully, he should add. 

“It’s damn near impossible, I’ll tell you that much. And I’ll make sure it stays that way.” He slams down another glass.

The bartender jumps in his skin. Dearie, did he just overhear a plan for murder? Oh, how he hates the police! There’s the paperwork, the questioning, and of course, the officers were downright terrible. “Should I be worried?” He turns, seeing the empty glass but not the drunkard. “H-Hey!”

The bell above the door dings as the customer leaves.

Joxter stumbles outside, walking down the sidewalk and bumping into a few night owls. How long has he been out? Bah, he doesn’t want to go back to that place anyway. He’ll have to see that Moomin again and by god, he’ll want to punch him. What a stupid kid, a stupid town, and a stupid – coat?

He stops in his tracks. Something in the shop window catches his eyes – a red wool overcoat, with deep pockets and a belt made of the same fabric, made to wrap around and tie at the waist. It has five large black buttons, this time in the front. He looks down at the sign in the window. He doesn’t know all the words but makes out the words “second” and “hand.” Perfect.

Turning to see if the coast is clear, he draws a claw and picks the lock. Heh, I still got it. He lifts the coat off the mannequin in one quick swoop. As he leaves the store and continues back to the yellow house, he whistles one of Snufkin’s tunes with the coat dangling on his folded arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter is a little short ! I didn't really like this one laksjdsd probably because I was looking forward to the next one too much ;))) which I may or may not have written first oop !! in case you couldn't tell it's the sexayyy one. where snufkin and moomin "unpack" in their room. it'll be up later this week ! 
> 
> tumblr; lovelymybunny.tumblr.com


	6. Ch. 6 A Curious Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin wraps himself and holds on to his back as he tips backward, soaking his hair without even having to leave his position. He lifts himself, water dripping from his head. “Care to wash me?” Moomin swoops some of the sweet foam and musses it into his hair. He cups some water in his palms and pours it over Snufkin, whose eyes are now shut. Moomin chuckles, returning to the task of kissing. Both rub each other’s soapy fur as they explore with their mouths. Then, Snufkin retracts, earning a disappointing moan from the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my discord group. ya'll wack.

Snufkin has the duty of unpacking his bags, instructions are given by Moomin. How commanding he has become lately! First, forcing him to stay in the comfort of a hotel (honestly, how dare he) and now giving forceful commands. Truth be told, he doesn’t mind it. Given anyone else, he would have bitten their face clean off. He likes it a bit too much coming from his friend then he should. 

 

He would move on to work on the troll’s bag, given it’s much larger, but he remembers the words, “Unpack yours, leave mine.” Hm, suppose he is to go behind him and be disobedient? What would the poor thing do? Surely just a disappointed look, nothing of the serious…or will he do more? A cheeky smirk grows. These daydreams, is it right to call them that? More like fantasies, up-most desires, are clouding his thoughts. It seems ever since they left that tent, unsatisfied, his body is screaming for more. 

 

The faucet turns on. 

 

Snufkin looks up then, already forgetting about rummaging through Moomin’s bag just to rile him up. The master bedroom is dark, except for a sliver of light escaping from the crack of the bathroom door. A light fog exhumes from the peak, from the room already filled with warmth. 

 

The smile had never left his face, no, but it grows in considerable size. 

 

♥

 

Oh dear. Is the smell of the incense too overwhelming? Perhaps he added too much soap to the clawfoot tub? Are the petals too over the top? Moomin takes a step back, biting his lower lip. Everything needs to be perfect. After all, this is  _Snufkin_. He won’t accept, _can’t_ accept anything lower than ideal. He fumbles with his fingers, looking at the cloud of pink foam rising as the water rushes. His feet tap against the icy cold tile. _Towels_! Oh, that’s what he needs! The second Snufkin leaves the bath he’s going to be shivering for sure –

 

“Moomintroll?” The white door creaks open, revealing itself inch by inch. “What is all this?” 

 

“Ah!” Moomin jumps, snapping back into reality. Luckily just in time for the tub is about to overflow. He turns to see his friend, with one paw covering, his open mouth. “It’s uh,” he struggles, “it’s not quite done yet.” The only thing not ready yet is Moomin himself. Not gaining the courage to go through with his long thought out plan, that is. 

 

Snufkin closes the door behind him with a click and leans his back against the frame. Already, a trail of dew sits on his forehead, threatening to fall into his eyelashes. 

 

Perhaps it smells like a perfume shop and  _perhaps_  the tub is more soap than water, but Snufkin doesn’t see any of that. All he sees is the man standing before him, putting together this sincere act of love, kindness. 

 

Moomin looks down, suddenly becoming interested in the tile work. “It’s a little much, isn’t it?” 

 

“Oh, splendid Moomintroll. It’s more than a little much.” Snufkin places a hand onto the sink, brushing against some stray petals. “It’s  _perfect._ ” 

 

He looks up, surprised at the given answer. “Really?” He coughs into his fist, “I mean,  _of course_. Only the best for you.” He stiffens his back, given the small confidence boost. 

 

The smaller of the two snorts, then replies, “And you haven’t given that to me?” He lifts his foot, leaning back onto the sink as he removes his socks one by one. 

 

Moomin watches him like clockwork, eyes tracing each move. “It’s not something you give once. It’s a commandment, a vow.” He immediately freezes at the last bit. What a poor choice of words!  _Don’t tell me I gave it away already…_

Snufkin looks up, his finger looped around the rim of the sock. “I…suppose?” He removes the sock and leaves it on the floor next to its partner. “Does that mean I should expect this every night from now on?” He walks over to the tub, facing Moomin with a gleam of mischief. 

 

“Oh!” Moomin, grateful for the change of conversation, breathes once more. “If you’d like, of course!”

 

“Mm,” Snufkin chuckles, removing a petal stuck in Moomin’s chest fur. “Afraid there won’t be a single rose left in Moominvalley after long.” 

 

 _Who needs rose petals when they have you?_ Instead of gushing his embarrassing thoughts aloud, he’s thankful his mind kept that one to itself. 

 

Snufkin overlooks his shoulder, at the water still steaming with heat. “You think it has cooled enough? I don’t wish to waste it.” 

 

 _Right_! The bath! Moomin swirls around, dipping a paw into the pastel sea of bubbles. “Yes, yes, it should be fine.” He removes his paw and shakes it off. With the word, Moomin hears his belt drop.

 

His breathing stops. 

 

Snufkin steps his right foot out of his now discarded pants, then his left – kicking the clothes to the now formed pile near the door. 

 

Moomin refuses to turn around, to see what has clouded his mind for months, years, stand before him – exposed. 

 

He starts from the top-down, unbuttoned his blouse. It’s the only piece of clothing he has without a hole in it, better take care of it. He takes much more care folding the shirt and laying it on top of the pile. “Well then,” he toys, seeing Moomin’s ears perk up, “suppose I’ll go in first.” He doesn’t need to see his face to know its beat red. 

 

 _Oh, by my tail._ He sees it then. He sees the slim body, the curve of his waist and the trail of fur growing thicker and thicker as his eyes lower. It’s better than he ever imagined. It’s better because it’s real. 

 

His feet dip into the water first, first retracting with the sudden heat, then seeping into the bath. One leg in, now the other. He lifts his left foot over the rim and dips it in before slowly lowering his entire body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyes closing, absorbing the comfort. “Feels  _wonderful._ ” His head turns to the side, facing Moomin. Although his eyes are still shut, Moomin feels a wave of shyness coming over him from having Snufkin’s face toward him. “But, it could be better.” He opens one eye, grinning.

 

“Ho - How so?” Moomin perks up, ready to retrieve a bottle of wine or a wicker candle.  

 

Snufkin lifts an arm, watching water trickle down like a small creek waterfall. “If I were sharing it with you.” 

 

“ _Oh._ ” Moomin flushes. The coil in his stomach tightens. “I don’t,” he muffles, “want to hurt you.” He can’t bring it to himself to say  _again._ He fumbles with his paws, wondering if he should leave the room already.

 

Snufkin’s shoulders fall. “Moomin,” he teases, “I’m not made out of glass.” He brings himself to his knees, placing a wet paw onto his arm. “Besides.” He squeezes. “I don’t see any sharp rocks in here.” 

 

Moomin smiles then even laughs for a second or two.

 

Snufkin reaches down to grab his paw. “Come then, before it cools.”

 

He swallows hard, his heart pumping. Maybe the heat is getting to him, making his mind as foggy as the room.

 

The water rises considerably with the addition of Moomin’s foot. It rises to the surface with the second. And, when his entire body sinks into other side of the tub, a waterfall splashes out and onto the floor. “Ah, whoops.” Moomin sinks even further down, wanting to hide.

 

Snufkin covers his face, laughing, “I do hope we don’t cause a leak! The people on the floor below us will think it’s raining!”

 

“Pink rain?” Moomin looks over the rim, noticing the sludge of pastel bubbles.

 

“Mhm. The best kind.” He smiles, again showing off his fangs. He lifts his paw and blows the foam to Moomin, who swats it away in the air.

 

Oh if he didn’t feel foolish before he sure does now. Bubbles? What was he thinking?!

 

“Silly troll, baths are meant for relaxation.” Snufkin stands, water trickles off him.

 

Moomin’s eyes widen.

 

Snufkin pushes his friend’s shoulders down, forcing them to relax. “Can you do that for me?” He bends his knees down, straddling him. His legs kick behind him, squeezing through the narrow space between his thighs and the tub. He lifts a soapy paw, scrunching his claws into his chest fur.

 

Moomin looks down, feeling something warm grow right below his stomach. As if he can feel the eyes piercing into him, Snufkin looks up, moving his paw to the side of his snout. 

 

Snufkin wraps himself and holds on to his back as he tips backward, soaking his hair without even having to leave his position. He lifts himself, water dripping from his head. “Care to wash me?” Moomin swoops some of the sweet foam and musses it into his hair. He cups some water in his palms and pours it over Snufkin, whose eyes are now shut. Moomin chuckles, returning to the task of kissing. Both rub each other’s soapy fur as they explore with their mouths. Then, Snufkin retracts, earning a disappointing moan from the other.

 

“Now my back?”

 

Moomin blinks.

 

He rises, turning himself around before sitting on his lap. Snufkin purrs as his back pressed against his chest. His eyes shut, engulfing himself in the sweet bliss of having paws stroke his entire body. “Mm,” he whines, “you’re heaven-sent.” Oh, he’s being so loud already, but it seems like the troll doesn’t mind.

 

He feels _it_ then.

 

Snufkin opens an eye, his purring coming to a complete stop. Moomin stops then, hoping he wouldn’t have noticed the guest. But, just as fast, Snufkin presses his back closer to his erection, purring once more. Moomin fidgets, hands moving away from his chest to grip the edge of the tub, white-knuckled. Snufkin whines, missing the touch.

 

“Moomin,” he pants, head rolling to the side, “ _please_.” He lifts himself and kisses his mouth, delving inside with his tongue. Moomin returns the gift with his own, tongues colliding with each other. He wraps his arms around his chest, trailing lower until he reaches his breasts. His palm cups over the swell, teasing the lowest edge of his nipple. Snufkin gasps, head rocking back. Moomin chuckles. My, how wonderful it feels to make Snufkin unravel like this. He doesn’t think about the room, the anxiety that once flustered. All he can think about are those cute cries and gorgeous curves.

 

Snufkin squeezes his thighs together, water sloshing. His arousal throbbing.

 

Moomin’s cock rubs against Snufkin’s delicate frame, rutting between his tight thighs. They both need more, more pressure, more of each other. Moomin’s hands venture lower, kissing his exposed neck earning its cry. They move from his chest, ruffling the thick fur on his stomach, before dipping between his closed thighs. “Relax,” he breathes on the new scar on his neck, “baths are meant to be relaxing, no?”

 

“Oh…” Snufkin bites his lip, embarrassed at all the noise he’s making. “Cl-Clever troll.” His quivering legs stretch out, hanging outside the tub. The inside cress of his knee resting on the cool frame.

 

“There.” He rubs his snout against his cheek, with his friend now literally unraveled. “That’s better.”

 

Snufkin’s hope of remaining calm comes undone when his index finger circles his exposed clit, lighter than a feather. “Ah! M-Moomin…”

 

“Yes?” Moomin reaches to play with his nipple with his free hand. “Something the matter?” He pinches the already teased part at the last word.

 

His hips buckle, gasping, “ _Moomin_!” He can feel tingles shiver down his spin with every trace of his finger. Moomin can feel the gasp echo against his back, throbbing with his heartbeat. “I love you, oh, I love you. I- “ His hip arches at a particularly hard swipe against his clit. 

 

“Love you,” Moomin finishes his thought, removing his hand and venturing lower. Snufkin moans, wanting more, wanting him  _inside._ Moomin spreads his lips open, finding the entrance and pushing his finger into the folds.

 

Snufkin throws his head back, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. His eyes glued shut, pleading  _more…more…_  as the other’s finger thrusts faster and faster, stroking his inside. 

 

If this could go all night, he would let it. But poor Snufkin is begging, rolling his hips. Strange, it only makes him harder. Feeling remorse, he pushes another finger inside, careful of his claws.

 

Getting exactly want he wanted Snufkin cries out his name, trying to spread himself open his legs further.

 

Moomin scissors his fingers, stretching his hole. He whispers against the shell of his ear, “Ready for me, love?”

 

He nods, giving nothing more than a pleading whimper.

 

Moomin removes his slick paw, Snufkin rocks himself back, eager and missing him. He laughs, and oh does his ego grow. “This is a first,” he whispers, with a large smile, “you being greedy.” He reaches into his sheath, his cock already half out, to ease the rest.

 

Snufkin breaths out, hungry for touch. “Well,” he laughs, struggling to calm his breathing, “you being so sensual is a first as well.”

 

“Mm,” Moomin moans, “we need to see the side of each other more often.” He gently realigns Snufkin’s waist so the tip of his cock presses inside him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

 

Snufkin gasps at the stretch, his head whipping back onto Moomin’s shoulder. “ _Kiss me_ ,” he begs as the other bottoms out. Moomin’s mouth is slick, his tongue venturing as far back as it can reach. For a moment they stay entwined, moaning each other’s name in their mouth. Until Snufkin rolls back, tightening around him.

 

“Ah, Snuf,” Moomin removes his tongue, panting, “you’re  _amazing_.” Snufkin purrs at the complement. Suppose one day he’ll make Moomin feel as wonderous as he’s feeling. To relax, only to be pampered.

 

Moomin digs his paws into his back, leaving a trail of red lines and scratches across his shoulders as he fucks into him. He thrusts wildly, only slowing when he hits a precise angle that drives Snufkin mad.

 

“There! D-Don’t stop,  _please_.  _Darling_  Moomin – “ Snufkin cuts himself off in a wordless moan as Moomin thrusts into that sweet spot, causing him to see stars. He buckles his hips hard, reaching his orgasm, more water sloshing out the side and into the pool on the floor.

 

Moomin slows his thrusts, becoming shallower. He moves his arms from Snufin’s shoulders to his small waist. “Almost there,” he breathes. He can feel the coil in his stomach about to snap.

 

Riding out the post-orgasmic bliss, Snufkin puts his left hand around his snout, bringing him in for a kiss. “Dove,” he says, after a quick peck, “my dove.” Another peck. Sizing up the energy, Snufkin rocks back into him one last time.

 

“Snuf!” He barely manages another thrust before his hips stutter, Snufkin keeping his body pressed into him as he comes. Ropes of hot liquid fill him inside, causing another round of purring.

 

Moomin drops heavily back into the tub, pink waves rolling across the surface.

 

Luckily his feet, still dangling outside, hasn’t fallen asleep quite yet. Snufkin brings them back into the water carefully. He then lifts himself, stretching. Moomin watches, breathless. A trail of cum drips from his pussy down his thigh. He holds onto the towel hanger, legs still quivering, as he steps out.

 

“Careful,” Moomin warns, leaning himself up. Referring to the pink stained floor.

 

Snufkin turns his head and smiles, a reassurance before he pulls the drain on the tub.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spread da love on my tumblr; lovelymybunny.tumblr.com


	7. Ch. 7 A Curious Departure

 

Snufkin takes his time brushing and combing his hair, his towel wrapped around his neck, after Moomin steps out the bath. Once out, he shakes the water off his fur – soaking the mumrik in the process as well as splattering on the wall.

“Oh,” he says, noticing his dripping wet friend, “whoops.” Moomin walks over to the mirror and wraps his arms around his waist. “My bad,” he teases, rubbing his snout against Snufkin’s cheek.

Snufkin playfully growls, “Now what was  _that_  for?”

“Hm?” He lifts his head, raking his paw through his soaking hair. “To dry off, of course.”

“What about me?” His voice is a croak, looking a bit dazed. He would be lying if he wasn’t sore already. Like he’s done one too many sit-ups. He’s much too tired to dry himself all over again. Then again, he’s much too tired to be angry.

Moomin takes off the towel around his neck and throws it over his head, ruffling the fabric. “Poor thing, I could never forget about you,” he coos, “anything you need?”

Snufkin grumbles something. Tea it is then. He feels the weight around him break loose and hears the click of the door. He slowly pulls down the towel, looking at his wrecked self in the half-fogged mirror. His neck is a patch of hickeys, his lower thighs scratched just slightly. He lightly places a finger around the reddest of bites, flushing. Through all the strain, he feels a lightness in his chest much stronger. What a silly thing love is.

Moomin puts on a kettle, humming, with a spring in his step. He’s a bundle of nerves, his mind racing with excitement and nervousness all the same. The little… _distraction_  did him good, for that time. Now, it came back like a wave. He nervously watches the flame flicker on the stove eye, waiting for the scream of the kettle. As his papa said, he  _must_ be brave. He  _must_  do this. He  _must_ spend the rest of his life with him. He  _must_ –

The kettle’s top flaps open, steam escaping and whistling. Moomin snaps back, removing the pot and wobblingly pouring the water into two mugs.

♥

Snufkin opens the door, sporting a long white bath robe loosely tied around his waist. Changing one’s clothes simply to sleep is a strange thought. But there isn’t much choice as of late, given his clothes are still soaked.  

 

He turns off the bathroom light and sees Moomin already tucked in the much too large bed, scribbling something in a notebook. It seems whatever he’s writing, it’s important for he didn’t even see the other. His hand clutches the frame of the door, seizing up the nerve to sleep somewhere other than the comfort of his tent.

One, two, three small steps without a creak escaping from the wood. He pulls back the cover as delicate as turning a page in a book. He’s never seen a bed with more than one blanket, and more than one pillow. Too much, really. 

 

He doesn’t notice the other until feels a small weight on the other side sink into the mattress. “Oh!” Moomin exclaims, snapping the book shut. “Snufkin!”

Snufkin raises a brow. “Not writing a love song, are you?” He hoists himself up the tall bed and leans the back of his head against the headboard.

“No, no!” He places the book on his nightstand, aware of the tea sitting at the edge, and focuses his attention on the other. “Just a diary of sorts,” he confesses. “Besides, that’s your job. The songwriting and all.”

“A diary?” Snufkin picks up his mug, blowing away at the steam. “Since when do you keep a  _diary_?” He’s thankful for the tea, with his throat terribly dry.

“I don’t usually keep track,” he admits, rubbing the back of his head, “unless I have something to write about. And…” He looks down at his paws. “You gave me plenty to write about tonight.”

Snufkin snorts, “Oh?” He takes another delicate sip, keeping his eyes closed. “By all means, leave no details untouched.”

They both share a soft laugh.

Moomin fakes a stretch and throws his arm around the other. Snufkin rests against his chest, purring lightly. “I do get a bit sappy at times.” His poems include every cliché in the book and his little scribblings were child-like compared to the other’s art. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s not…” He thinks for a moment. “…sophisticated?”

Snufkin drowsily drinks the remaining bit of his tea. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” he dismisses. The empty cup falls onto his lap. He rubs his face on his fur, finding the most comfortable spot for a pillow. “If it’s anything like you,” he yawns.

Moomin’s heart skips a beat. How can anyone be so soft, so kind, so  _Snufkin._ He picks up the mug laying in the other’s lap and places it next to his own on the nightstand. Something tinges in his already fluttering heart. “Snuf?” He stares into the lamp, seeing black dots. He swallows. 

“Mm?” He mumbles, eyes closed.

“Do you ever think about… _us_?” He twists the lamp’s switch, the entire room engulfs in darkness. He can’t face this conversation in the light.

A beat.

“…us?” Snufkin wonders aloud. “I think about you constantly, of course.” What a strange question. But, oh, he’s much too tired to question why he brought that up. The night is not the time for riddles.

“No, no.” He plops back into the cushiony bed, placing his hand back around the mumrik. “I mean, about the future. Us?”

Snufkin opens one eye, only able to make out a sliver of light escaping from the fluttering curtains. He shakes his head, the fur ticking his nose. “Why must there always be a next? Can’t we live in the present?”

“Well,” he sighs, not getting the answer he wanted, “I suppose…But don’t you dream about us living together? Picking out the perfect design for our own cottage…? Something simple! Something small just for us. And – and sleeping together like this! But night after night. Unless you needed a break of course! You could still sleep in your tent from time to time. What about cooking dinner? I know you love soup and the fish you catch taste amazing but I can borrow my mother’s recipes and make you all sorts of things! How about pastries? Oh, I can make you scones, - ”

The sentences mesh into one incoherent word, he recognizes what he is saying but doesn’t comprehend any of it. Feeling the vibrations of his voice through his chest calms him, almost like his own form of purring. He struggles to keep awake but feeling so warm, full, and happy, it doesn’t last long.

“ – and the holidays! It may be a tight squeeze, but we can fit our families together under our roof. Ah, but you would rather spend it with just ourselves, wouldn’t you?” He pauses, giving time for an answer. “Oh dear! I rambled didn’t I?”

 

No response.

 

“Snuf?” He turns his head in the darkness. He feels the steady rise and fall of his chest resting on his own. That answers that. He chuckles softly, nudging his snout against the soft auburn hair. “I can’t help but excited when I think about our future together,” he whispers to no one. “I want to spend the rest of our lives like this. I want to spend it with you.”

 

The sleeping mumrik’s mouth opens ajar, a small mutter of nonsense – his dream self doing the talking. 

Of course, it was asking too much for a direct answer from him. But it wasn’t a  _no_. That would’ve been too easy. At least he didn’t shut him down entirely. Usually, talk of themselves as a couple makes the other uncomfortable –  _can’t we just be ourselves?_ He’ll reply,  _existing as one, isn’t that enough?_ Well, yes. It’s more than enough. But he needs assurance. He  _needs_  a promise. To rest his fears that this incredible thing won’t disappear in the night. The word commitment isn’t something in Snufkin’s dictionary. Perhaps it could be.   

He’d be lying to say he’s not nervous. Snufkin can respond eagerly, or completely shut down. He doesn’t want to shock him, but he can’t be any more obvious of his intent to propose. He’s not afraid of a  _no,_ but a  _never_. ‘ _That could never happen, dear Moomintroll! A free spirit must never be tied down to one person.’_ He shutters at the thought.

His own eyelids feel heavy. Doubt is a tiring thing. He must be incredibly fatigued for he’s starting to see things – a pair of silver eyes just outside the bedroom door. How strange…

They blink.

Suddenly, he’s very much awake, his heart in his throat. An intruder? But he didn’t hear anyone break-in-? He pulls Snufkin as close as possible, squeezing a small moan out of him. He slows his breathing and perks up his ears. And hears a … growl?

Another blink.

He flops his head back down on the pillow, no longer concerned.  _Joxter_. Of course it is. How is he supposed to get any sleep with someone watching his every breath?

 

Oh. Suppose that is the idea.

♥

Eventually, Moomin falls asleep even with the predator stalking him. He wakes up, the room now a haze of pink and yellow. Snufkin lays with his back faced to him, facing the wall. 

 

He lifts his upper body and stretches. It’s still early by the looks of it – barely sunrise. Perfect. He carefully peels away the top blanket and removes one foot. He turns his head, seeing Snufkin still snoozing. He can’t resist temptation.

 

Moomin returns to the warm bed to wrap his arm around Snufkin, his own half morning hug. His snout rests on the bit of shoulder revealing itself in the morning sunlight. He places his lips in the curve of the neck, dragging till he reaches the tip of his shoulder blade.

 

Snufkin’s half lidded eyes opens once, before shutting once more. He hums, “Mmrn.”

 

“Morning.” Moomin returns to the start, this time wrapping his soft lips around his neck. He sucks, barely grazing his teeth and tongue. Once he’s done, he kisses the fresh marking.

 

Snufkin slowly exhales a soft moan, turning his body so he lays flat on the bed. With his eyes still shut, his left arm rises in the unknown, feeling for the other’s face.

 

Moomin catches his hand, kissing the fur growing on top like a patch of moss. “Love you,” he whispers while tucking his arm back underneath the blanket.

 

A smile. Then his head turns to the side of the pillow. Seemingly asleep.

 

Moomin, now satisfied, removes himself. He tiptoes across the room, taking one last glance at his sleeping beauty. He carefully closes the door with the smallest click.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Moomin jumps, nearly screaming his head off. “Give it a break will you?” He hisses, seeing the dreaded man lay sprung on the couch. He listens to hear any disturbance from the bedroom.  _Phew._  Nothing. “Honestly, how does anyone put up with you?!” He turns and grabs his bag, swinging it across his back.  

“Leaving so soon?” He kicks his legs resting on the edge. “What a  _shame_.”

He leaves a folded piece of paper on the counter, with a seal. That way Snufkin can tell if his father did any snooping… “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” He ruffles through the cabinets, finding a leftover box of cookies. “Don’t get too comfortable, though.” He angrily munches on a dry pastry. “I’ll – ”

“Now now, don’t forget your manners. Close that snout while you chew.”

He gets a sudden sense of déjà vu. No matter, he finishes his mouthful before continuing, “I’ll be back before you know it. No funny business.”

“Who? Me?” He smiles wickedly.

Moomin grumbles something unkind, deciding to leave before he gets into it with the old man  _again._

Once outside the room, he takes a deep breath – grounding himself.  _You can do this Moomintroll._ How does Snufkin go on these journeys alone? It’s terrifying…and he hasn’t even left the bed and breakfast yet.

He barely fits down the staircase with his bag and all. At the bottom level, he meets the same woman from the day prior. She hops out of the way, two silver trays in hand. “Gooood morning! Care for some blueberry crêpes?”

The smell of buttery pancakes reminds him of home and oh, how much he wants to slip back into bed with his lover and take turns feeding each other – He shakes his head. No, stay focused! Without saying a word, he readjusts his bag and heads out the entrance.

“Hmph!” She pouts, “Just because I’m small doesn’t give him the right to ignore me.”

♥

Given that it’s still early morning, workers and festival-goers have yet to make a way out onto the boulevard. Only one tourist walks the empty streets, with a face full of determination (and maybe a hint of nervousness). The shops gain distance between one another until they stop altogether. The last streetlight flickers, a single moth circling the warm glow.

His paws teeter on the last brick in the pathway. There’s no turning back now.

In the distant fog lays a mountain full of meadows and ponds. Tangled with folk tales, blessings, and, hopefully, answers.

♥

_ Spring petals fall onto his lap. Snufkin dusts them off, not taking his eyes off the book of poems. Something or someone tugs at his sleeve. ‘Can I put this on you?’ He doesn’t look up, but nods. A white paw appears in front of him, removing his hat and replacing it with a delicate flower crown. The same paw tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. He laughs, struggling to stay focused on the hymn. Then, to make matters worse, a fuzzy snout rubs against his cheek, blocking his view entirely.  _

__

_ ‘Moomintroll!’ He laughs, giving up. He closes the book with a feather he kept on hand. Except, is that Moomintroll? He’s even taller, only a tad, but taller no less. And his voice – it’s scruffier, not as soft, but enchanting just the same.  _

__

_ The troll doesn’t reply, sliding his paw down his chest, stopping to feel his heartbeat. ‘Say my name again,’ he whispers in that lusciously deep voice of his.  _

__

_ He falls back into a pile of petals, the troll climbing on top of him. The weight of his belly comforting, like a warm blanket surrounding him. ‘My love…my Moomin.’ He turns his snout, bringing their lips together.  _

__

_ A few small pecks later, the troll lifts his head. ‘It’s lovely to have time to ourselves without the children.’  _

__

_ ‘Yes,” he agrees, wanting to continue the kiss, ‘I love our time together.’ His smile fades before their lips meet once more. ‘…Did you say children?’  _

__

_ As if summoned, a small pair of eyes hover above his own, a tail-wagging behind. It looks like a miniature version of Moomin but colored like a maple leaf with black paws.  _

He jumps, now wide awake. His poor heart beats out of his small chest. “M-Moomintroll,” he laughs breathlessly, “I just had the most curious dream!” He turns, fully ready to tell his partner the strange scenario in his sleep ridden mind when he finds the bed empty. “Moomin?” Usually, he’s the one having to wake the troll, not the other way around. He jumps out of bed and into the kitchen. He calls out his name again, with no reply.

He feels a little tinge of disappointment. Perhaps he thought Snufkin needed some time to himself? Ah, that Moomintroll…always thinking of him. He lifts the silver tin to reveal a stack of thin pancakes, with a pile of plump blueberries sitting on top. He licks his lips, having worked up an appetite the night prior. Before he digs in, something catches his eye – a note?

He carefully removes the paper from underneath the plate, tearing across the seal. The handwriting, he recognizes immediately:

_ Snufkin,  _

__

_ Sorry for the sudden departure. But there is something I must do. I hope you understand! I will be back in a few days. In the meantime, try to enjoy yourself. I hear there is a festival coming up. Maybe they could use a handsome young musician?  _

__

_ Much love, or, better yet, Cheerio! _

_ Moomintroll   _

__

Snufkin re-reads the letter what seems like a hundred times. Where…where has he gone? And what is it that he needs to do?  _Without_ him? Oh dear, is this how Moomin feels when he leaves? He feels hurt, a little bit upset, and saddened all the time. A terrible concoction really. He slumps down at the bar seat, stuffing a face full of the treat into his mouth.

How deeply unfair! And by the looks of it, his father has left him as well. The smell of alcohol still lingers in the room, however.

 

Why he respects given alone time, but honestly, couldn’t they ask first? He puts down his fork, feeling sick to his stomach. This taste of his own medicine is a horrible one.

He gets up and decides to get ready for the day. If it’s alone time he’s been given, he might as well spend it. He washes his face in the bathroom sink, reaching for the towel when his hands grab something much thicker than he remembers. He opens his eyes to see a blue overcoat, much like his old one. Where did  _this_ come from? He takes a moment to look over the clothing, seeing only a tiny bit of thread coming undone at the sleeve. Well, it is used…He puts one arm in, looking himself in the mirror. Suppose it’s not entirely all that bad.

He ties the fabric around his waist loosely. It could still use some working in to, but he could do that himself. He feels a smidge better already. Maybe this day can be saved after all?


	8. Ch. 8 - A Curious Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more a set-up chapter than anything. sorry if it's not too interesting. basically everyone is going to have their own small character arc

Minutes seem like hours, hours seem like days – time in itself is an illusion when one is forced beyond their will. The slope started steadily; even a novice hiker would scoff at anyone calling this a challenge. Now the land grew treacherous like the scale of a dragon’s back. The climber, now reaching the crest, lets out a victorious huff. He takes a moment to soak in his accomplishment. 

 

Moomin turns his head to admire the view, standing on top of the rocky overhang.  _Oh_. The village is still in sight. One doesn’t even need a pair of strong eyepieces to see the flags fluttering in the wind.

 

The smile, once large and proud, burrows along with his eyebrows. Some pouting and some unkindly cursing ensue.

 

This is going to be much harder than expected…

 

♥

 

The door shuts softly. His hand freezes on the metal knob. What is a man left alone in a strange place to do? Leave - is what his mind comes up with. But where? He can’t leave the village… And what is there to do here? There are too many people occupied in one space. Oh, troubling times indeed. When that Moomintroll comes back he’s going to get his ears chewed off.

 

Snufkin removes his hand, fearing any longer it will become glued. He sighs, not entirely decided on his next move. Suppose some fresh air never hurts.

 

As he reaches the bottom of the staircase, a cluster of rabbits wearing overalls some, the others white and blue dresses storm about – pulling each other’s ears, crying, and everything kids are known to do. Although he might have enjoyed the thought of having cubs of his own one day, the idea quickly disappears as soon as it came.

 

He takes careful steps, avoiding stepping on anyone’s poor foot. A loud, booming voice causes him to freeze, his leg still in the air, “ _Stooop_! Honestly, Mother is going to be  _so_  upset if we don’t even learn the chorus!” The small receptionist hops around the corner with a stack of papers in hand. If it weren’t for her now wearing a plaid apron, she would be identical to her siblings. “Oooh! Pardon me!” She blushes, her ears falling flat.

 

“No, no you’re fine.” Snufkin smiles politely. He does not care about the well being of the poor thing but supposes it’s a nice thing to do. “What’s all this about?” 

 

She hops about, handing each of the small paws a sheet of what appears to be sheet music. “Henry do  _not_ eat this one.” He nods, droll dripping from his chin. “Sorry did you say something? I’m just so busy with the festival coming up. I promise your room will be tidied up by this afternoon!”

 

“Er,” he starts, then thinking better of it, “right then. Suppose I’ll be on my way.” He shakes a young one off his leg.

 

“ _Hoooooold_  on just one minute!” She drops her stack and hops toward the tallest of the group. She jumps, pulling on his pocket. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

“Shoo!” He looks around and sees himself trapped. He just got this jacket; it would be a shame to have it ruined like the last. “Off of me!”

 

With a jump, she reaches to pull out the silver instrument tucked away. “A harmonica,” she gasps, “perfect! Oh, splendid! How  _ab-so-lut-ely_  wonderful!”  

 

The color vanishes from his face seeing some stranger holding  _his_ harmonica. He plunges, but she is much too quick on her feet. He lands with a thud on the ground. The children find their new playground on top of the poor lad.

 

“I was hoping you would have this, oh how I was wishing! And here you are –  _the_ famous Snufkin and his harmonica. Saving the festival!” She clutches the instrument against her chest, hopping up and down.

 

“S-Saving? I am doing no such thing!” He lifts his body, causing the two babies bouncing on him to slide down the curve of his back. “I don’t know what it is you’re going on about. But if you,  _please,_ ” he scowls, not standing in front of the giddy rabbit, “return my harmonica. I was hoping to turn this day around, but you just outright ruined it once more.”

 

She laughs, “ _You’re_ having a bad day?”

 

He sighs.  _You mustin get upset in stressful situations. Calm yourself._ When he was younger, he would snap at any creature who inconvenienced him.He vows to change this part of him, along with running away. It takes constant work, however. He straightens his back and counts to ten in his mind. He exhales the breath he held onto, before trying again, “What purpose would my harmonica serve in the festival?”

 

“Well, what other purpose does it serve? To play!” To his relief, she hands him the instrument. She looks away quickly, playing with her now empty paws. “My older brother used to play the accordion during our play. He moved away.” She got very quiet then. “I guess he got tired of the responsibilities of being the oldest.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he responds, not knowing what else to say while tucking away his harmonica. “But a play? Aren’t those music sheets?” He points to one of the papers in the little one’s hands.

 

“Ooooh, that!” Her ears perk up. “The youngest of the village do some singing during the intermission. I don’t know if I can call it singing, though.”

 

Snufkin chuckles, “No I don’t imagine so.”

 

It goes quiet then. At least between the two adults, the children still bicker and play amongst themselves.

 

“Without music, the play isn’t any good.” She continues where she left off, handing out the papers. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. And of course, it’s the first time I’m in charge.”

 

“Hm.”

 

She turns, smiling. “Not to mention my boyfriend is coming. He works as a lumberjack, so he’s never around. I wanted to impress him, but oh well.”  

 

A deep breath.  _I can’t believe I’m doing this._ “Do…” he swallows, “do you have any other instruments?”

 

“Other?” Her ears perk up. “Other than your harmonica you mean? There’s a music shop that sells everything under the sun, you know! I know the owner, he owes me a few favors. Anything you want, you can use it!”

 

A shaky smile. “Lovely.”

 

He doesn’t realize it then, but that involves playing  _in front of a crowd._

 

♥

 

The entire morning the young adventurer traveled northeast. His path is neatly cut forestry, the view through the tall woods open and blue – the large puffy clouds have a sheen to them. A tall cliff follows, pebbles and rocks threatening to collapse with the slightest of mudslides. It can’t be any more picturesque, more heavenly. He takes a deep breath of the early morning dew and beech trees already budding, its fruits long gone from the autumn.

 

Yet, his thoughts have a way of intruding the finest of moments. A thick beech tree, its roots still sprinkled with dirt, lays directly across the beaten path. He kicks the log as if it would solve all his problems. He could climb over it, with difficulty, but with his bag it would be impossible to hoist. He peers underneath, only a tiny mouse or rabbit could slither its way. Lest he’s not quite as small.

 

He attempts first to throw his belly across. His nails dig into the fungus-covered ridge of the tree. He lifts his entire body, bag and all. No use.  _Fine. Two can play at this game._ He removes his arms from the bag and slings it across. Change and clatters coming from the pots and pans cause every bird in the mile radius to fly off in a mad rush. He claps his hands together, like an athlete before a record-setting jump, before he goes for attempt number two.

 

With a grunt, he jumps onto the pine, dry bark poking into his belly. He strains, clawing at whatever his paws can reach, but his feet don’t even lift from the ground. His large body plumps on the ground, given out.

 

From around the corner, a hearty laugh echoes, half-hidden by the rusting of branches.

 

He lifts his head, ears perking up, eyes scattering to find the source. A shadow moves through the forest, except not making a noise – not a crack of a twig, nothing. If it wasn’t for the slim tail a tree suddenly grew, he wouldn’t be able to find him.

 

“Should’ve known,” he grunts, standing himself back up. He rubs the dirt off his behind and takes a few steps back. He does his best to not think of his audience. He rushes forward and leaps across. Although his hands reach further, it isn’t enough to suffice his entire weight.

 

This time, he doesn’t try to conceal himself. The man doubles over in laughter, revealing the front half of his body.

 

His ears fall, his face growing hot with both anger and embarrassment. “Shut up, will you?!” He yells out. He gets up again, not caring to brush himself off.

 

“Encore, encore!” He claps, approaching the scene. “I didn’t know you Moomin folk was performers!” He hops on top of the pine, sitting cross-legged at the crest. He pulls out his pipe and pours some tobacco. “Well? The stage is all yours.”

 

“H-How?” He shakes his head. “I could do it if it weren’t for the eyes watching me.”

 

“Oh? Is that it?” He blows out a puff of smoke. “Not cause you’re…” He vaguely motions a circle. “…round.”

 

“That has nothing to do with it,” he grunts, although what he said was partially true. He would never admit that, though.

 

Joxter watches at the struggling creature for minutes. Then, strangely enough, he offers his hand. Moomin looks at it, with a scowling glare. Given his other option is a cliff, he begrudgingly takes his paw into his own. He pushes his feet up. Surprisingly, with his other paw hooking onto the log, his feet finally leave the earth.

 

The curve of Joxter’s mouth rise.  _So easy._  He lets go. Moomin frets, paws scrabbling to keep his footing. He latches himself to his current position, only a foot off the ground.

 

Another bellowing of laughter, “How can you expect to climb the mountain when you can’t even climb over a tree?”

 

“I,” he manages, “can!” With all remaining strength, he hoists himself up. He collapses on the ridge of the tree, catching his breath.

 

Joxter raises a brow, doubtful. “I’ve taken five naps in the time it’s taken you to reach here.” He looks over at the bag sitting on the other side. “…have you considered it’s not in your genes?”

 

His brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Y’know.” His eyes travel to the clouds passing. “Some things we aren’t meant to do.” Moomin opens his mouth, but without saying a word. “Like how we mumriks have outstanding agility and sense of direction, while you can’t take a step without looking at your map.”

 

Well, he does have a point. “I can still – “

 

“Or how mumriks are never the ones to settle down,” he interrupts coldly.

 

This isn’t about journeying anymore.

 

 “You moomins crave stability, commitment,” he states matter-of-factly, “mumriks crave freedom.” His head turns, looking gravely into his innocent blue eyes. “Our chemical make-up cannot be changed overnight. Thinking so is foolish.” No cheeky smile, no wink. Only a deadpan expression that sent shivers down Moomin’s spine.

 

His body grows cold. One wrong step and he’ll be in a fight with the elder. And, honestly, he doesn’t know who would win. “That,” he squeaks, “that isn’t true…not exactly.”

 

“No?” He stands, able to perfectly balance himself on the log. “Open your eyes boy.” He jumps down, dust flying. “A ring won’t fix the unfixable.” He kicks the bag with his pointed boots.

 

The word  _ring_ stops his heart. He takes a deep breath.  _Don’t be scared. Be brave, just as Papa said you can be._ “We may have instincts.” He lifts his body, then slides down the tree. “But doesn’t mean we can’t change.” He swings the bag across his shoulders. “The most difficult things can become easier to bear with time.” He looks up at the long trek that lays in front of him. “We just have to try.”

 

“You’re going get yourself killed, aren’t you?” He follows behind. “I’m not dragging your body back to town.”

 

“Didn’t want you to,” he mutters.

 

He shrugs. “It’ll save my son some pain in the long run at least.”

 

A chill, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn’t so much what he is saying (although it’s off-putting itself) more of his tone - indifferent. Finding his body on the downside of a cliff wouldn’t spark care in the world. “Wh-what?”

 

Moomin turns. But…

 

He’s not there.

 

He calls out his name, circling.

 

No answer.

 

♥

 

What is one to do in a foreign town? Sightsee? He hates the tourist type – so lost they can’t help but step on their tail. But here he is, circling, overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of it all. The stress from the recital is replaced with the stress of the cityscape. Posh faces, men with canes, women with scoop skirts hold their heads high. Talking about stalks or money – which might as well be a foreign language to Snufkin.

 

His feet guide him through the early morning crowd – dancing, avoiding stepping on anyone’s toes. He eventually stumbles, the back of his heel hitting a hard stone. “A-Apologies!” His hands fly up, signaling his innocence. When he receives no reply, he turns his head to find it was no person. Rather, a beautiful marble fountain. In the center stands what could only be a deity with thin, delicate wings. They have long hair that drapes over their shoulders, falling well past their waist. Sitting on their head is a flower crown, with candles wrapping around the frame.

 

It isn’t just the artistry, but the subject itself that takes his breath away.

 

_Clink_! A coin splashes into the fountain.

 

He jumps at the sudden sound. The woman closes her coin purse and smiles. “For luck. Áine watches over all of us and our…troubling areas.” She holds out a coin, offering. “Love and such.”

 

He shakes his head. “No thank you.” He stares down at his feet. “Money doesn’t bring luck, only problems for me.”

 

She laughs, “That’s why I’m getting rid of mine.” She offers her hand once more.

 

He thinks for a moment. Well, suppose it wouldn’t harm anyone. He takes the coin and looks at his smudgy reflection. A sigh. He turns his back and throws it over his shoulder.

 

He thinks about his wish for a moment, long after the coin splashed and joined the others at the bottom of the fountain. He knew what he wanted before he was handed the coin. And if he were honest with himself, he’d been wishing it for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been meaning to update this more often but I keep having to work overtime (this past week I worked over 65 hours grr) on top of that I have to flu, so this chapter probably isn't so hot askjdlsadk 
> 
> tumblr: lovelymybunny


	9. Ch. 9 - A Curious Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some slight nsfw warning

After a painfully slow day of wandering aimlessly around this foreign landscape, Snufkin returns to a cold, desolate room. He leans back on the door, his head banging against it. The truth sinks in - they aren’t returning tonight. It’s not that he feels neglected, just let down is all. And what a strange feeling that is. Missing someone?

 

A swallow. Isn’t this what he was fearing most? Never allowing his best friends on his journeys for he could grow attached…

 

No, no. It’s not like that. He can survive a day without the troll. He’s survived winters apart, but why does this time feel different?

 

His feet guide him to the dark bedroom. The faint smell of the thyme candles still looming in the air.  

 

It’s just a reversal of roles. He is now the one to be left in the dust for some fantastic adventure. A taste of his own medicine, so to speak.

 

The lamp’s faint yellow floods the room.

 

And maybe he deserves the bitter taste of his own pill. Doesn’t mean he can’t be upset by it, though. The pent-up frustration, irritation, and dejection need to be released. He doesn’t want to think anymore, he wants to do something about these emotions.

 

His scrawny legs climb onto the bed – once full, warm. He wishes that the fuzzy body was still there, paws wrapped around his waist and steamy breaths against his neck. He pulls the pure white pillow between his knees and wets his dry lips. Where does one begin with this? He lowers his crotch till it reaches the seam, hands still holding on the trim. Suppose that is a start…A hesitant roll of the hip – his pussy gliding against the soft fabric. It feels…nice but nothing like Moomintroll.

__

_ Moomintroll… _  Another roll, this time grinding much harder. The feeling of Moomin filling him so, lifting his entire body like a feather. Oh…that’s better. Sparks fly up to his spine as his eyes flutter and mouthparts open.

 

“M-Moomin,” he gasps, his cheeks flushing pink as he imagines an encore of the night prior. He thrusts in earnest, the friction slicking against his aching clit. He should feel guilty, so enthralled by his touch, so starved already that he’s doing  _ this.  _ The thought of his lover seeing him so  _ desperate  _ so wanting only turns him on more (which he hates to admit).

 

Maybe Moomin would watch from the side, sitting on the leather chair, spreading his legs so he can see how  _ good _  he’s doing. Playing with himself as complements roll from his tongue:  _ You’re doing amazing. Harder, I know you can.  _

 

Snufkin’s stomach tightens, the pillow already becoming slicker. Making Moomin happy…putting on a show for him…Moomin… _ Moomin _ . A pool of release escapes as he shutters through orgasm. He keeps thrusting, whimpering his name until he collapses forward, his knees still clutching the pillow. Eventually, he rolls off and sprawls on the bed – panting, laughing lightly. He stares at the ceiling, not thinking of anything besides that silly troll and how silly he made him.

 

Suppose anger and passion ride a thin line.

♥

“Tell me, did you think to bring a tent? Or do you plan to sleep in the trees?” Joxter, lying flat on a sturdy branch with his legs dangling, had found himself a bed for the night. The troll, however, is still stuck making a fire.

 

In his paws are two stones. He strikes once, twice, a hundred times – but nothing more than a spark.  _ So that’s where you’ve been hiding.  _ He readjusts himself, thinking that his posture must be the issue. “I have blankets,” he mutters. Suppose bringing along Snufkin’s tent wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Around a dozen attempts later and his arms give out. A heavy sigh, before he chucks the rocks into the forest. Who needs warm soup and coffee anyway?

 

Moomin untwists his canteen, feeling much lighter than it did this morning. When he brings the cold metal to his lips and takes a swig, nothing comes out. He holds it out upside down, only a drop of black liquid falls to the forest floor. His eyes trail from the canteen to the man lying in the treetops. Who…needs coffee anyway?

 

After finishing what was left of Snufkin’s cold soup, Moomin packs it up for the night. He does his best to fluff up his pack, using it as a pillow. Who would’ve thought he would miss the tent floor. Whether it is the man looming over him, his growling stomach, or the nervousness bubbling inside, he spends the night staring a hole into the sky.

 

What Joxter had said – their species simply not compatible – it’s not true. It  _ can’t _  be true. Besides, Snufkin is nothing like his father (thank heavens). He cares, he’s kind-hearted, virtual nothing like the other. Sure he needs his alone time, but they’ve worked that out.

 

Haven’t they?

 

Does Joxter know something? He looks up into the dead tree, seeing a faint shadow of legs dangling. No…why would Snufkin confined in his distant father, one of which absent for much of his life? It doesn’t make sense. This is just a trick. He’s trying to poison the mind with these doubts.

 

_ It’s not true. Don’t believe him.  _ He tells himself over and over. But those words sting. Like he felt the same doubts himself - just never admitted to them.

 

♥

Despite Snufkin’s nature, despite  _ everything _ , he cannot bear the thought of Moomin leaving having his own adventure. At this moment, is he asleep? Dreams of the valley moving behind his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t want  _ him.  _ But his heart pleads for the warmth that the body, the soul brings upon him. He wants to know every thought, every step the troll takes. If anything, this trip proved how he longed for their nights spent glued to one another to become every night. And how he can’t envision losing him, these moments. 

 

If only he could read the troll’s thoughts…

 

His eyes wander to the nightstand, the dim light illuminating that worn notebook that calls his name like a siren in the sea. No, that would be intrusive – going against his own ways of peace and solitude. But, to know  _ why.  _ To know his intentions is far too alluring to drown out.  

 

The bound leather is worn thin. The contents spilling out, the strap no longer able to properly wraparound and close. His thumb against the corner, flirting with the idea to bite the serpent’s apple. 

 

A loud thump downstairs sends him a fierce jolt running through his body. The book flies onto the carpeted floor, papers lay disperse one another. Following, a booming uproar of  _ stop that  _ and  _ behave for once  _ echoes through the walls. Afterward, a faint sob of a toddler. 

 

Snufkin blinks, hands frozen.  _ Oh dear. Oh dear. Ohhhh dear.  _ Now he’s bound to be caught. There’s no right way out of this one.

 

Unless…? A sigh of relief. Yes, if he were to organize it as it were, surely he wouldn’t suspect anything. He falls on his knees and begins frantically looking at dates. Two years ago…four years ago… _ my  _ five years ago? Luckily, they weren’t on the daily, but  _ still  _ what an awfully long time to record one’s thoughts. 

 

He stops in his tracks reading one date. And the first sentence –  _ I learned of Snufkin today.  _ Surely… _ no  _ he wouldn’t write about  _ that.  _ Maybe he mistook the date in his mind? He reads further, his heart rising into his throat. 

 

The memories flood back.

 

○♥○

 

 “You’ve disappeared again and look – you’re hurt!” Snufkin sits at the edge of a trickling creek, its tranquil blue now ruined from his laundry. He jumps from hearing not only someone finding him but his new friend, Moomintroll. 

 

“I am quite alright, thank you,” he gathers himself, dunking the clothing deeper into the cool water as if to cover his tracks. “I came here seeking solitude if you’d please – ”

 

“But-! How can you say that when your clothes – “ The white beast pauses. His eyes follow the path of murky red flowing down the creek’s path. The puzzle piece clicks into place. “You…you don’t mean?”

 

“Stop!” Snufkin huffs, cheeks flushing. The rest of the laundry will have to be cleaned another time. “I wish to be alone!” He slaps the wet rag down on the grass and storms off.

 

“H-Hold on Snuf!” Moomin catches up, lost in thought. 

 

“Do you ever stop? Honestly!” He throws open the tent’s flap with such force it’s a surprise the entire thing isn’t knocked down.

 

Moomin holds out his paw, still standing in the same patch of grass. 

 

“Please…don't.” The shadow of his head falls to his knees. He wants nothing more than to be  _ alone.  _ He hadn’t known the troll for long but could tell he’s persistent if anything.   

 

Moomin lets his paw fall to his side.

 

♥

 

Snufkin’s eyes ache much like his stomach. Typically, most parts of himself ache around this time. But, more than anything, his heart pulls like a chain weighing it down. At least the pain is distracting in itself. Otherwise, he would be thinking of the disaster that just unfolded.

 

A shame Moomintroll had to find out this way. If it were up to him, the troll would never find out. But, then again, was that realistic? Perhaps he should have planned this out better. Not that is should matter. He’s never felt shame for who he is. Just what he wasn’t. But that time has long since passed – before he even met his recent friends. Even though he has no guilt (it was never a secret, really) the thought of explaining what simply makes sense twists his stomach. What if they didn’t understand? What if they had an endless barrage of questions? To which, he had no real answer. Replying with an “it’s what makes sense to me” won’t drown their curiosity, no doubt, as to why he is male. 

 

By now he’s probably told his parents, friends, and soon the entirety of Moominvalley will know this part of him. And so be it. He hates to be the topic of gossip, but what does it matter what other people think of you? No one matters except for…

 

_ Moomin.  _ What if he didn’t agree with his choice? It’s not his place but…No. He would never disapprove and it’s cruel to think that. Nothing will change their friendship. Although it only just bloomed last summer, he feels a special connection – one he hasn’t felt for anyone before. If he lost that…

 

He shakes his head. What a useless thing worry is! All it’s good for is preventing a good night’s rest. Tired of the self-banter, he decides a walk in the moonlight will do his mind some good. If anything, it will give something for his anxious body to do.

 

He opens the flap to discover something small laid at the entrance. He brings his lantern close – illuminating a silver tin. He squints into the darkness surrounding his campsite. “Hello?” He calls out. No reply. Suppose his guest decided to leave a package and not his presence. A good thing, too, for he really isn’t up to visitors.

 

When he puts his palm across the warm metal, he feels a paper crinkle on the back.  _ A note?  _ When he sees the handwriting, even smudgy in the darkness, he knows exactly who the author is. Only one troll hasn’t quite mastered their cursive yet (the r’s and s’s seem to bring him the most trouble). An unconscious smile grows across his face. If he were to describe his friend…enduring would be the word. It should annoy him, really, with his innocence, clinginess, sweetness, but he can’t help but glow when thinking of the troll.

 

_~~ To  ~~ Dear Snufkin, _

_ I looked in Mama’s book to find something for your cramps. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her.  ~~ I personally think it doesn’t matter what parts you have. You’re my friend all the same.  ~~ _

_~~~~ _

The last bit is hard to make out, being scribbled out, but readable all the same.

 

He weeps a good amount that night.

__

○♥○

 

_ He returned to Papa’s thermal when he came back. All he said was thank you. Which I guess is good. I wish I could help him more.  _

__

He reaches the end of the entry. A smile. Although that night hadn’t been great, as a memory, it’s heartwarming now.  _ Moomintroll… _ A whisper of the name that’s long brought light into his life. His paw runs down the aged paper. The tips of his claws brushing against every thoughtful, caring word. The paper rests against his beating chest as he falls into a slumber, smiling, dreaming of the wondrous future ahead if it were to be anything like the past. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my tumblr url again asdkjljkld  
> now it's moomindaddie.tumblr.com


	10. Ch. 10 A Curious Performer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically half diary entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you em for being my beta reader (I think that's what's that called) !! ♥♥

Snufkin awakes to a relentless pounding at the door. He leaps up, diary entries crumbling about.   _Could that be?_  Heart fluttering, he springs out of bed and stumbles into his discarded pants.

 

“Moomintroll!” Snufkin swings open the door to see an empty hallway. His eyes lower till he sees the little rabbit tapping one of her large feet.

 

“We’ve been waiting all morning for you! I swear, are all travelers like you? Rude, inconsiderate, lazy…” she continues down the list of insults.

 

Snufkin’s chin dips to his chest as he clutches his elbows.  _Where are you Moomintroll?_

 

“Oh.” Her ears drop. “That was a bit harsh wasn’t it? After all, you’re helping us with our play…”

 

“ _Play_?” Snufkin looks up in confusion. Her eyes widen and her palms form a fist. If looks could kill… “R-Right you are,” he quickly corrects himself, “yes, yes where is the play exactly?”  

 

“In the large brick building across from the fountain – we already have the instruments there and everything! I’ll see you in five!”

 

Snufkin closes the door to get his boots on. He winces when he sees a lost rose petal sitting in the living room. No, it’s best not to think of him.  

 

♥

 

“What exactly are we doing?” The theater isn’t all that grand, given the abundance of cobwebs. Snufkin had gotten a few webs in his hat when entering the double doors. He greets the tallest of the rabbits playing on the stage.

 

“The play is called  _A Midsummer’s Night Dream._ I don’t expect you to know, not many people do.” She hands his music sheets.

 

“Yes, Shakespeare, I’m aware.”

 

She clutches the papers close to her heart, twirling. “It a wonderful tale about a friend in a relationship with the wrong woman, when the person he loves is right in front of him! How can anyone be that silly?”

 

Snufkin chews his bottom lip. “It’s not entirely  _impossible_ …” He studies the music sheet in his hands. “Violin is it?”

 

“Oh, um, I’m not exactly sure,” she giggles. “I think there’s one over there?” She directs a group of the youngest siblings off the stage to give the performers a rehearsal.

 

Sure enough, there’s an aged violin sitting in its case on the opposite side of the room. The instrument clearly hadn’t been played in quite some time. It’ll sound less bright and inspiring now, but hopefully will warm up to its musician in time for the play.

 

The children and performers look in anticipation, seeing him stand with the music in hand, dots and lines fill the page in some strange language. A nod. He pulls the violin from the box and closes his eyes. He breathes in deep, adjusting his hand and posture. Like a match thrown into gasoline, his eyes spark open, the bow flying. He plays of love, words and vows unspoken. Like all the frustration, confusion is gliding onto the strings.

 

When the song is over, he lowers the instrument. He’d miss some notes, after all, he’s a bit rusty on the violin. What he hadn’t expected was the girl in charge to stare with tear-filled eyes.   

 

“That bad?” he sheepishly asks, placing the instrument back into its home. 

 

She shakes her head. “That good.” 

 

Both smile.

 

When Snufkin returns home after hours of practice, having snuck some fruit from the farmer’s market, he settles back into the bed. He lifts the nearest paper as he bites into an apple.

 

♥

_There’s no date, but it had to been a few years ago. Given his lackluster handwriting._

With the promise of a quiet evening, Moomin follows like a lost dog, worried that he would lose all sense of himself if he didn’t follow close. Even though it is his home, Snufkin is the one to open the door for the other, inviting him in.

 

At the dinner table, they exchanged nervous glances. Afraid that any peek too long may spark questions in the family. That somehow their little secret would be found out.

 

Once, their hands grazed while passing the breadbasket. Snufkin snuck down in his seat, hiding his smile behind his glass of water.

 

“R-right,” Moominpapa pauses his story, noticing how curious their visitor had become, “as it were.” He stabs some of his vegetables; seems no one is in the mood to listen anyhow.

 

Little My stares a hole into her brother, bubbling her milk with her straw. Something is up, he isn’t normally this disgusting.

 

Moomin decides to help his mother clean, having finished his dinner first. His chair scoots a little too loud, and he appears much too eager to do the dishes.

 

“Well!” Mama exclaims, “How very sweet of you, dear.” She pats his shoulders as he takes her plate. If she noticed anything off, she didn’t say so.

 

Snufkin stares at his full plate, pushing around some cold peas.

 

“Not hungry?” Mama leans forward, turning toward the nervous boy. He shakes his head, blushing at the seemingly-innocent question. “I can wrap you some for later, if you’d like?”

 

Before he can answer, My jumps up. “I already called his slice of pie!”

 

“Yes, dear, of course,” she replies to the small one. Mama nudges his shoulders, giving him a quick wink. He smiles in return. He could plan on a plate being set out in front of his tent later.

 

“Alright then!” Moomin returns with soapy hands, brushing them off on his own fur. “Ready?” His eyes light up, looking at the lad who nearly jumped out of his seat.

 

“Ready?” My slams down her fork. “Where are you two going? We haven’t had dessert!” She begins to get up, but Mama coughs and gives her The Look.

 

“Ah,” he pauses, looking at Snufkin for an answer. He isn’t much help – shrugging his shoulders. “N-Nowhere in particular!” Moomin motions his hand, as if that would help articulate his thoughts. “A walk?” It hadn’t meant to come out as a question.

 

“Yes!” Snufkin pushes in his chair. “An evening stroll would do me some good.”  

 

“How lovely.” Mama holds My down by the hem of her dress underneath the table as her brother passes by.

 

This time, Moomin opens the door for Snufkin, who retrieved his bag sitting at the mat. “Thank you, Mama. I had a lovely time.” The guest twists the straps of his sack, looking down at his boots.

 

“You’re always welcome here, dear.” She smiles and waves, wishing her son luck. (Also to remember his umbrella.)

 

They don’t speak a word. The only sounds are the creak of the porch steps, the distant drumming of summer cicadas. The large troll occasionally swats at a flickering firefly: burning green when close but appearing as white as the moon when they wander far.

 

Snufkin builds a fire from the birch log pile he chopped earlier that week. Moomin hobbles, nervously dusting off any food debris from his fur. It isn’t until the flop of a blanket that the troll snaps out of it. Snufkin sits, his legs crossed, and pats the fabric.

 

Moomin smiles, sitting poised close to the other (but not too close).  In the distance, hot lighting burned into the low clouds. Between that and the fireflies dancing, nature puts on a spectacle for the two to enjoy.

 

After what could be a minute or an hour, Snufkin speaks lowly, “Moomintroll.” A name. His name. The way he speaks, it feels like home, like he's snuggled in his bed fighting to keep his eyes open for one last daydream. 

 

Moomin turns but can’t read the other’s expression — his eyes are glazed upon the small fire, smiling ever so softly. Was he thinking out loud just then? Slipping his name amongst the daydream?

 

Moomin takes one of his fidgeting paws into his own. The contact sending shivers through the mumrik’s body as he is pulled from his dream and into the sweeter reality. Instead of the fire, his eyes fixate on those blue eyes, twinkling just the same.

 

The troll sees his chance - he pulls the other down closer to the crackling fire. Moomin holds his palm in his lap, rubbing the hard callouses in such soft love and care it’s a wonder they don’t heal with the touch.

 

The weight of silence sits between the two but it's a comfortable one. one of which they've grown fond of. Snufkin closes his eyes, breathing in the earthy smoke. A spark flies out of the fire and fizzles on the forest floor, giving Moomin something to look at (rather than the other). 

 

Moomin looks at the warm face, not prepared to see what sits beside him. Orange clouds dance in a seamless array of waves on his cheek, the moon his eye. Moomin can almost hear the air leaving his lungs, the patter of his heart. And at that moment, he never looked more beautiful. 

 

He doesn't think it over, doesn't question himself or ask if it were alright. Rather, much suddenly, he brings his snout against Snufkin’s warm cheek, rubbing in small circles.

 

Much to his surprise, Snufkin turns his head, allowing for a proper Moomin kiss. Snufkin breaths out heavy through his nose, tickling the fur of the other.

 

Moomin retracts himself suddenly, the realization hitting him – He had just kissed his very best friend. “I-um, sorry,” he mumbles.

 

“Don’t be.” Snufkin’s eyes flutter open, clearly drunken from the kiss.

 

Moomin perks. “Oh?” A beat. “Oh.” He looks rather sheepishly at the blade of grass sticking onto the blanket.

 

Snufkin hums quietly with his eyes closed, taking in the beauty of the sounds the forest made just for them.

 

“Um, would it be alright. I mean, could I…” Moomin coughs into his fist, “could I kiss you again?”

 

One of his eyebrows raise while he’s resting. “Another kiss?”

 

“Only if you want of course!” Moomin puts both his hands up in a defensive pose.

 

“Although I love the idea of it, I don’t think it would be wise.” Snufkin finally opens his eyes to look into those pitiful ones staring back.

 

“N-No?” Moomin can’t hide his disappointment in his voice. “Why not?”

 

“Because, you daft troll,” he whispers lovingly, “ever heard of too much of a good thing?”  

 

He thinks for a moment. “Like when I eat too many slices of Mama’s cakes?”

 

At this, Snufkin bursts out in laughter. “Well, I suppose something like that!” Leave it to the troll to relate a kiss back to food.

 

“But—! You’re sweeter than any cake! A-And why should I restrain myself?” he pouts, leaning in on one hand.

 

Snufkin blushes at the odd compliment. “Because you don’t want to grow tired of me,” he answers simply.

 

Moomin gasps, his jaw dropping. “How could that be possible?!”

 

He chuckles and throws up his hand in a stretch. “You never know.” He flops down onto the blanket, throwing his hat aside. “We can limit it to one kiss a day.”

 

 “One?!” Another gasp, this time much more scandalous.

 

“Mhm,” he hums, “that way we won’t grow tired of it. Or each other.” Snufkin kicks one leg over the other.

 

Moomin moans and throws his hands in the air. “Fine!” He flops down beside Snufkin. “But can I have a goodnight kiss?”

 

“One a day, dear troll.” He wags a finger like he was schooling one of his siblings.   

 

“Not even a peck on the cheek?”

 

“No.”

 

“How about on the arm? Surely that doesn’t count?”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Well –”

 

“Moomintroll!” Snufkin bursts out laughing for the second time that evening.

 

“Fine, fine!” He says, definitely not pouting. The large troll hoists himself up, stretching toward the night sky. If he were to fall into slumber, then morning would come sooner. That meant another kiss. 

 

“Calling it a night?” Snufkin rolls his head over to look up at his friend.

 

“Yes.” His eyebrows furrow. “Good night,” he says shortly.

 

“That’s a grand plan.” Snufkin rolls over and pulls the blanket over him. “I think I’ll lay out here underneath the stars.” Clearly without company, given the lack of blanket he’s willing to share.

 

Moomin extinguishes the campfire and walks back to the house with his tail dragging along.

 

“What were you two doing?” Little My meets the troll at the door with one raised brow. “Either that was the laziest walk I’ve ever seen, or you two lied.”

 

“So what?” Moomin spits. “Mama says it’s okay to have a few secrets. Besides, we didn’t do anything except –” _Kiss_. _They kissed._ It dawns on him in that second, reality catching up to him. His tail slowly lifts from the floor, a large cheeky grin growing across his face.

 

Little My stares bright-eyed, thinking very well Moomin had lost it.  

 

♥

 

The breeze smells of honeysuckle and clematis. Without the wind, the bushes hid their sweet stagnation. But this morning is an exception, for mother nature sends her kindest wake-up call.

 

The aroma tickles the traveler’s nose. He twitches at the sensation before waking.

 

One, two, three blinks is what it takes for his eyes to open. 

 

“Morning!” Moomin greets him, sitting cross-legged mere inches from his face.

 

Snufkin jumps up at the sound, seeing nothing but white. “W-What are you doing here?” He rubs his sleepy eyes, ridding of the gunk that made a home there overnight.   

 

“Waiting for my kiss, of course!” He leans in with his eyes closed, lips puckering.

 

“Really? This early?” Snufkin can’t help but laugh softly. Goodness, he hadn’t even given time for the others to wake. “You’ll have to go all day if you use it now.” Then again, the troll isn’t known for rationalizing.

 

“I know! It’s just,” he pauses, picking at his paws, “I really want to feel you again. I didn’t get enough last night.”

 

Snufkin rolls his eyes, giving in. “Alright, but don’t come running to me later on.” He shuffles on his knees and gently grabs both sides of Moomin’s cheeks. Both take a deep breath before their noses meet.

 

_Firewood. And…pie?_ Moomin holds onto the other’s face, not willing to let him go before he gets a good scent, taking in all he had to offer. (Moomins are weird like that, mind). _Cherry…Yes, Mama’s cherry pie. She came here after all._

 

Snufkin taps the paws cupping his face, signaling his completion. Moomin removes himself, although his paws are still glued to the other. “ _Wow_ ,” he whispers, in awe.

 

♥

 

Most days, the kiss came early. Just as the sun kisses the sky, so did the troll. But then he had learned to save it for special moments. Moments that warrant a sweet, heavenly kiss to wrap up the presence of an instant memory.

 

Because, although the troll had his dim moments, he isn’t all daft as Little My puts him out to be. He knew if he were to appeal the little rule of One Kiss a Day, he would have to play in the judge’s favor…

 

The heat had been brutal. Mama brought some iced lemonade once or twice, but it could do nothing to replenish the sweat they lost. Who decided to do all this manual labor in the middle of June, well, they would get an earful for sure.

 

The dock had needed repairs for quite some time: rusty nails stuck from the boards and some of the wood had seen better days. Mama was worried that one of the children, heaven forbid, would step up on a nail and then get an infection and then – her mind tends to wander to the worst of outcomes.

 

So Papa decided to finally relieve his wife’s worries and chop some new planks and buy hundreds of steel nails. Too-Ticky, Papa, and his son set out to remove each of the faulty pieces and replace them with brand-new floorboards. Snufkin had the job of hammering, Little My ran back and forth, nails in her mouth delivering them where need be.

 

When the sun met the highest point in the sky, Mama returns once more with a tray filled with cucumber sandwiches and light pastries.

 

“Guess it's abit time fur a break.” Too-Tickey claps the dust off her hands. The other crew members drop everything, running with open arms to Mama and her delicious snacks. All except the youngest of trolls, and a lone Snufkin.

 

A large shadow looms over the boy hammering the last nail on the board he’s working on. “Coming?”

 

Snufkin turns, eyes squinting at the harsh sunlight. “Let me finish up this last one.” He turns back and lifts his hammer, ready to strike.

 

“Actually, stay right there, I have a better idea.” Moomin runs off toward the makeshift picnic table made entirely of rock and pillows.

 

Snufkin finishes hammering in the nail, the head meeting the wood. He wipes his brow dripping sweat onto his blouse top. The weather warranted a tank top, but he hasn’t reached that level of comfort in his own skin just quite yet.

 

Moomin returns with his paws full – balancing four sandwiches, two cookies, and a glass of lemonade. Some of the drink splashes out as he stumbles toward his friend.

 

Sweat beads gather onto Moomin’s forehead, his chest already drenched. Snufkin stares at his heaving chest, sipping at their shared glass of lemonade.

 

“Sorry if I reek of body odor,” Moomin says, looking at his admirer, “but I’m not the only one soaked in sweat.”

 

Snufkin’s cheeks burn, glancing away. He tucks a lock of his hair behind an ear. Something furry presses into his cheek, wiping away some crumbs.

 

“Got it.” Moomin keeps his thumb resting on his chin.

 

Snufkin turns back, completely unprepared to see those half-lidded eyes. His heart feels as if it could burst into a million pieces, his chest lighter than air. He comes to lean against him, and his hand slips up the fur on his chest and rests lovingly. Moomin bends to kiss him gently, but then stops. He presses his index finger against his furrowed lips.

 

“I’m saving it,” Moomin whispers. “It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

 

Snufkin can’t hide his disappointment. The soft, feathery feeling is taken away. “Oh,” he says, disheartened.

 

Then, an idea.

 

The sensation of lips meeting his own is enough for the troll to fall off the deck. Snufkin touches his cheek to slow the kiss down, feeling every place their lips touched and every place they didn’t. It’s slow, sweet, tentative. He wants to be able to map out every crease and groove.

 

Snufkin slips the tip of his nose across his when he removes himself. “It’s alright,” he whispers, “it’s a mumrik kiss, so it doesn’t count.”

 

Moomin blinks, letting the air between them linger. “I-Is that so?” He can say something more intimate but decides to swallow it. Rather, speaking something a bit silly. “I like mumrik kisses.”

 

Snufkin smiles. “Glad to hear that.”

 

With that, the rule became no more. Moomin brushes his snout against his cheek over and over, until he heard creaks of wood coming behind.

 

Snufkins are never ones for rules, anyhow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm off tumblr but if you have any questions hmu on discord


	11. Ch. 11 - A Curious Fight

Moomin tips his head back, briefly closing his eyes to feel the morning sun’s warmth glow on his cheeks. There’s a ring in his ear, and he doesn’t know if it’s from his partner’s bantering or the difference in altitude. When he blinks awake, the sunlight burns his already scratchy eyes. 

 

The muscles in his legs and back beg for a sitting. So, he throws his bag down, sitting in the middle of the forestry, not wanting to find a log or something more suitable.

 

“Stopping again are we?” Joxter taunts, stopping in his step. He heard the familiar crunch of twigs and leaves when Moomin meets the earth. 

 

The novice hiker supports his head in his palms, resting his eyes once more. “Catching my breath,” he lies. The trek had become steeper in the past hour, becoming rougher for others had long given up. Making the land unbroken and overgrown with roots and rock. 

 

A patch of clouds rolls in, engulfing the area in its slow-moving shadow.  

 

“That’s been your excuse the past five stops.” Joxter kicks a small pebble toward Moomin. It hits his bruised and callused foot, but he doesn't react. A devilish smile spreads across Joxter’s face seeing the other’s health compromised. 

 

It’s time to strike while the iron is hot. 

 

“You had a good run.” He circles around him, with his paws held behind his back. “I’ll admit, you made it further than I expected.” 

 

Moomin mumbles something argumentative before being snapped awake with a droplet of rain falling onto his forehead. 

 

“Go home,” Joxter whispers from behind, getting in inches from his ear. “You aren’t made for this. Look at yourself,” clearly alluding to the dirt and grim overtaking his fur. He stands back up, walking in front of him.

 

Moomin blinks, seeing the muddied boots pointing in his direction. 

 

“Your fur is tattered, you haven’t slept.” He shakes his head in disapproval. “Face it, you’re not made for this.”

 

“I’m not giving up.” Moomin heaves himself up, wobbling in his step. He quickly brings a paw to his temple, feeling sweat soak into his fur although he feels a bit chilled. 

 

“This is what I _hate_ about you Moomin folk. You never know when to quit,” his tone quickly changes into something more aggressive. “You can’t see what’s in front of you.” Joxter jabs a claw into his chest. Moomin tumbles a few steps back. “The indisputable truth.” He follows. “The truth that you can’t climb this damned _mountain_ .” Another jab, much like a spear to the chest. “And that you can’t change my _son_.”

 

_So this is what this about?_ Moomin clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You want to talk about _the truth?!”_ He heaves his chest out, standing on the tip of his toes. _“_ The truth is, you break your son’s heart _over_ and _over_ again.” Rather than jabbing him, Moomin shoves his shoulders back. Joxter nearly tumbles to the ground but regains his balance last minute, circling his arms. “And, truthfully, you don’t give a damn, do you?! You couldn’t care less if he lived or died. And suddenly you feel bad about it. You want to make up for it by doing… _whatever this is!”_

 

“ _This?!”_ The veins in Joxter’s neck pop as he yells so loudly the birds fly off in a frenzy. _“_ This is me protecting my son!” It’s his turn to stand on the tips of his toes, participating in a ‘who’s larger’ contest, even though there is an obvious winner. 

 

Moomin leers. _“It’s a little too late for that.”_

 

The father's eyes widen, lip curling in utter disgust. “ _What_ did you say?” he hisses. 

 

“I said, you will never _._ Be _._ His _. Father._ ” 

 

Joxter launches at Moomin. His fist comes sailing at his jaw, snapping Moomin’s head to the side.

 

The pain hits him then, the frustration, the hatred, it comes fuming out of Moomin. He tackles the smaller man, taking him down to the forest floor. A _whoosh_ of leaves soars into the air with the collision. 

 

A loud crackle of thunder booms overhead as rain now steadily pours. 

 

Joxter’s eyes enlarge and gasps as his head hits the ground, surprised at his speed and strength. Moomin takes advantage of his hesitation by bashing his straight in his nose with a loud _crack!_  

 

“If anything, I should be protecting him from _you!_ ” Moomin screams as Joxter cries out in pain, covering his bleeding face.  

 

“I’m trying to save you both from heartache!” he says through the muffle of his hands. “Why can’t you get it through your thick head? He’s a mumrik for Groke’s sake!” 

 

Moomin sits on his chest, making it nearly impossible for him to fight back. “That doesn’t mean he can’t change!”

 

_“No?!”_ He lets his hands down, revealing his now crooked nose gushing blood. “Like how he still leaves you high and dry, doesn’t give a damn about your feelings? It’s always his way, isn’t it?”

 

Moomin draws his fist back, almost frozen.  

 

Despite the pain, Joxter laughs, “Let me guess, he hasn’t changed since the day you met him.”

 

“Shut up,” he mumbles, looking away, unable to face what he is saying. Suddenly, he leaps to his feet, instantly seeing stars. 

 

“Can you marry a man like that? Here one day, gone the next?” He lifts himself halfway, wiping away the trickle of blood and rainwater dripping from his chin. Twigs and leaves mat in his greying hair. “Never putting your needs first?”

 

“I’m not perfect either…” he stammers wearily. 

 

“Sure you’re not.” Joxter stands, wobbling much like the other, and stumbles towards the forgotten bag. 

 

“You can’t lift that thing,” Moomin laughs, watching him struggle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“A favor.”

 

Joxter snatches the worn leather straps, heaving it to his chest. Moomin watches in horror as he hurls it down the mountain.  

 

♥ 

 

“Your part is equally important as the rest!” The young woman playing the role of Helena brushes her ginger hair for what may have been the hundredth time. She kicks her legs up on the tier of seats in front of her. 

 

The lad with the large antlers and braided hair replies, “It doesn’t feel that way. My last name is literally _Bottom._ ” Zir head falls into his palms. Ze sighs, looking at the other actors holding the thick script in their hands, preaching to the stars above. 

 

She nudges his shoulders. “It looks like he’s having just as much fun as you.”

 

Ze lifts his head warily, looking at the person who sits in the furthest corner of the theater, also with his head in his palms. “Isn’t that our entire orchestra?” 

 

“Mhm.” She flips the brush to peak in the mirror, fluffing up her hair _just right._ “Why don’t you go introduce yourself? Show off those new antlers of yours. And those cute snowy freckles.” 

 

“What?!” ze stampers, “N-No, he’ll bite my ear off!” Ze blushes at the mention of his new spikes growing on his head.  

 

She giggles, transferring a flower from her hair into his braids. “I think he’s cute. I can’t wait till we get to doll him up for the play. Oh, we'll have to fixed that black eye of his.” 

 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

 

She opens her mouth, but another voice screams out, _“You two!”_ The small rabbit twirls around from her seat, sitting in the center of the first row. _“Shut! Up!”_

 

From a distance, an eruption of giggles explodes.

 

Everyone in the theater turns their heads, amazed by the source. 

 

“He speaks,” she whispers, comb falling into her lap. 

 

The way the performer's small paws cover his face, the way his nose crinkles, there’s just something that makes the minor actor’s heart flutter. As the actors move on to the next scene, zir feet take him across the aisle. 

 

“Um, hello.” Ze plays with his paws, mumbling. 

 

“Hello.” Snufkin smiles. “And who are you supposed to be?” He returns to cleaning the violin with a rag. “Certainly not one of those fairies?” 

 

“Oh, no. I’m Nick…um, Bottom.” Ze scratches the back of his neck.

 

He pauses as a grin curves on his lips. “The one that turns into a donkey?” 

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Ze sinks in the seat, cursing himself for the embarrassment. “They put socks on my antlers to look like ears – it’s terrible.” Ze awaits laughter but receives none. 

 

Snufkin looks at him curiously. “A shame to cover them.” He hums quietly to himself the opening of the play, going back to cleaning the instrument. 

 

Ze blinks, feeling a tinge of excitement rush from his feet to the tip of his nose. Interrupting the two, a strike of lightning booms in the distance. The flickering lights dangle overhead as the earth shakes. 

 

The actors pause, looking around the theater. Snufkin does the same, but with worry deep in his eyes. Earlier that morning, he could smell the earthy scent of rain falling onto the dirt and the electric smell of ozone. Beyond the tall mountain, there was a gray sheet of clouds, reassuring his intuition. 

 

“I hope no one’s braving it out in the storm,” ze says, shivering at the thought. 

 

Snufkin squirms in discomfort, tapping his foot. The musician doesn’t answer, mumbling something about shelter and rocking in his chair. 

 

What a mysterious fellow.

 

♥

 

“ _Why_ ?!” Moomin shrieks, hands trembling. “ _Why would you do that_?!” His feet scamper to the edge of the bluff, sliding in the mud. 

 

“You left me no choice!” Joxter laughs. “Now it’s time for you to pack up and –”

 

Moomin stands, placing a foot where the ground begins tilting. 

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Joxter’s tone shifts worryingly, desperate. “Listen, we can go back and get it.” 

 

Another step. 

 

“ _Stop_ !” Joxter throws out a hand, afraid to make a move. “ _Don’t_ -!”

 

Moomin’s feet slip, he falls forward and tumbles much like the bag – his body falls down the long wall of the mountain, taking to the brush below gangly and wrecked. 

 

He thinks of nothing at all. For a flash of a second, he sees a panicked face. Then, he sees the creek outside his home, the mourning doves perched on the bridge. His feet feel the grass, cool and damp. A shadow sits perched on the bridge, much larger than the birds. 

 

The vision comes and goes. The grass underneath his paws engulfs in wholly fire. Gradually, the lights disappear. The corpse on the bridge collapse, plunging into the deep. 

 

♥

 

_Drip, drip, drip…_

Moomin’s eyes tremble open as rain droplets splash onto his face. All he recognizes is a canopy of leaves hanging high above his head, everything else a blur. 

 

He turns his head, seeing a blob of red. The pain hits him then, nearly crying in anguish.

 

The red figure shifts. “Your arm may be broken. Or at least fractured,” it says. The voice beckons through his subconscious like he was speaking underwater. “Surprised I didn’t find you dead.” 

 

Moomin extends his neck to see a makeshift splint bound tightly around his left arm. The sling is made from some weathered fabric, which he vaguely recalls the pattern from his belongings. Joxter must have cut it, given there’s a cravat bound across his chest as well. Mother would fret if she knew one of her blankets were being used as a cast. 

 

Then, realization hits _. “Where’s my bag?!”_

 

Joxter deplores, “If I didn’t get rid of that thing, you’d break your back as well.”

 

Moomin tries to stand, pain pinning in his arm. He needs to push through, to keep his eye on what he came here to do. His breaths saw in and out. 

 

“Oh, do shut up.” Joxter urges him back down. “I have your damned ring.” 

 

Moomin’s head reclines, having no choice but to trust him (given his predicament). But…why is he helping him suddenly? 

 

“What you said is true, isn’t it?” Joxter states out of the blue. “That’ll never be his father?” He brings his knees close to his chest.

 

Moomin stares at the evening sky, playing back what he said. Despite better judgment, he plays along. “You keep making the same mistakes.”

 

Joxter shakes his head. “It’s the way I am.”

 

“No, it’s not!” Moomin cries, instantly regretting it. He groans through his teeth, “That doesn’t excuse your behavior.” 

 

Joxter stands, stretching his back until it pops. “It’s too late for me. But maybe I can help you.” Moomin’s ears perk up, listening to the branches crunching underneath his step. “It’s obvious how much he adores you.”

 

“What changed?”

 

Joxter saunters over to the nearest mulberry bush, picking off a handful of berries. “I guess I wanted to be the one to make him happy.” He pauses, tossing fruit into his mouth. It’s horribly bitter. “But he doesn’t need me, he never did.” 

 

“He’d love to get to know you, are you kidding? He just doesn’t know how to act around you.”

 

Once the bush is removed of its fruit, Joxter hikes up the hill until he reaches a field’s worth of nettle weeds. “I can’t. I’ve been living this way for so long; I can’t suddenly change.” He plucks some weeds, occasionally cursing at their sting. 

 

“By helping me, you’ll show him you’ve changed.” 

 

“It doesn’t work like that.” Joxter retires to their campsite, hands full of berries and leaves. 

 

“It’s a step-! Sure Snufkin still disappears on the regular, but he’s gotten better!”

 

“How? By leaving notes?” Joxter forces a laugh. He deposits his findings on the right side of Moomin, that way he could eat without being force-fed.  

 

“Yes, but no!” Moomin groans, having trouble finding the words. “That’s not what I meant. He _pushes_ himself to attend parties, to stay when times get hard, to not run away. Yes, he slips up now and then, we all do! But the important part is he’s _trying._ You don’t have to be the perfect father; you just have to _try._ ” 

 

Here he is, taking up for Snufkin even now. When his arm may as well be broken, unable to stand on his own. Joxter would find his adoration ridiculous if it weren’t the least bit heartwarming. “Well, _try_ to eat this shit. It won’t go down easy, but it’s not like I could build a fire.” 

 

Suppose the conversation is over. 

 

Moomin glances at the chef salad laid out for him. It looks like something a bird would eat (if they couldn’t find any worms that morning). His stomach growls for his mother’s baking, his mind begs for his mother’s warmth. To be in his warm bed and pull the blankets over his head. Instead, every inch of his body aches, experiencing pain with every sharp movement. Tears swell in his eyes, not knowing what else to do. He carefully grabs a handful of the forestry, throwing it down the hatchet. 

 

“It’s not _that_ bad, is it?” Joxter chuckles, watching tears fall. 

 

“It’s,” he mumbles, coughing at the bitterness, “the worst thing I ever ate.” 

                                                                                                                                   

Joxter breaks out in hearty laughter but is quickly hushed by his pain. He grabs his blood-stained nose, cursing loudly. 

 

“Serves you right,” Moomin retorts, sharing his own laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wynken is an oc of my friends ♥ I love ze


End file.
